


The Space Between (Me and You)

by Filmsterr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Broken Heart, Daddy Dean, Divorce, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Holidays, Jealousy, Journalist Castiel, M/M, Minor Violence, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Regret, Reunion Sex, Sexual Harassment, Single Parent Castiel, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving Dinner, Unplanned Pregnancy, Veteran Dean, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 08:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: Anna looks at him sympathetically from her spot beside him. “You guys were just kids,” she murmurs, and the pity in her voice irks Castiel.“Yes, we were. And look how that turned out. I’m 28 years old and already divorced.” He wishes he didn’t sound so bitter. It would help, maybe, if he felt less like a giant cliché, a walking billboard that saidDon’t Marry Your High School Sweetheart!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So proud of me for starting a new series so quickly after finishing my latest one! That's a testament to how long this idea has been floating around inside my head. 
> 
> Honestly, I've been searching for a good Divorce-and-Reconciliation **spoiler alert** fic for so long to no avail, that I finally just decided to write one myself (if you know of any good ones, please feel free to share). I hope this one lives up to all of our expectations. 
> 
> If I've said it once, I've said it a million times- I hate titles. I don't love this one, may change it over the next few chapters, but it felt right, at least for this first chapter. 
> 
> Looking forward to hearing your thoughts and opinions. Enjoy xoxo

The silver picture frame feels heavier than Cas had remembered, a strange sensation between his fingers. He’s only barely let his eyes roll over the picture, the smallest sigh he can possibly utter, when Anna shrieks loud enough to jar him and the frame is ripped from his grasp. 

“OH my God, is this you and Dean?” she asks- unnecessarily, Cas thinks, since she knows very well the answer, since she was there when the photo was taken. “You two are _babies_.”

Cas wipes a hand wearily over his face and leans over her arm to look at the photo again. God, he feels so old right now. 

The picture hasn’t changed at all since the last time that he’d looked at it, though why he thinks it would have is beyond even him. It’s him and Dean standing together, robed in rented tuxes. Smiles so wide their faces could have cracked in half, laughing at some secret joke they shared from the whole world. He remembers the exact moment the photo was taken. It was their wedding day.  

“I was barely nineteen,” he says, with a sigh, and then turns his head away from her. 

He refocuses his attention on the box in front of him, on continuing the long task of unpacking. Some of these cases haven’t even been unpacked since his last move, hence the unexpected trip down memory lane.

Anna looks at him sympathetically from her spot beside him. “You guys were just kids,” she murmurs, and the pity in her voice irks Castiel. 

“Yes, we were. And look how that turned out. I’m 28 years old and already divorced.” He wishes he didn’t sound quite so bitter. It would help, maybe, if he felt less like a giant cliché, a walking billboard that said _Don’t Marry Your High School Sweetheart!_

But it is what it is, as Grandma Abby always used to say. He leans back and heaves a long sigh. Absently, he clicks his tongue between his teeth. “I don’t need to be talking about this right now. I have to much to do.”

He takes the photo back from Anna’s hands and readies himself to pack it away for a later date. Likely some night in the not-too-distant future when he’s had too much wine to himself and is ready to have a good long mournful cry. 

Before he can manage to stuff the old memory into the box where it belong, a tousled little blonde head pops up between him and Anna, as if from nowhere.

“Look at that!” her small, feminine voice calls out. “It’s you and Daddy. You look like friends.”

A tight expression comes over Castiel’s face. He wants to sigh, again, but he holds it back for Hannah’s sake. He deliberates for a second before he turns to her and says, “Daddy and I _are_ friends, sweetheart.”

It’s not strictly untrue. That doesn’t mean it’s the fullest extent of the truth, either. But he’s not going to explain the intricacies of adult relationships and divorce to a seven-year-old.

In any case, Hannah seems unconvinced. She eyes him in that sidelong way that she’s been starting to use lately, the one Cas does not like very much because it makes her look much too grown up. “Hmm, you don’t seem like friends. You don’t play together.”

He stays silent for a moment, attempting to conjure up the energy to have another one of these conversation. She’s getting so smart, it seems like there’s another difficult topic to cover every week. 

Luckily, Anna steps in for him.  “Well, that’s just because grown-ups don’t play very much,” she says to the little girl, .  

“But you play with me,” Hannah points out to her father. “Auntie Anna plays with me.”

“And _that’s_ because you are too cute not to play with,” responds Anna without missing a beat. She slowly stands to her feet with a menacing look on her face. “And now that you mention it. I think I heard reports of a tickle monster in the area!”

Hannah lets out a squeal of delight and takes off toward her new bedroom, Anna following in hot pursuit with her hands outstretched and ready to inflict tickles. 

He watches from his spot next to the dining room table and smiles, grateful for both the support that Anna gives him and the constant challenge of parenthood. He thinks to himself, with an air of positivity, that Hannah will hopefully be able turn those traits which frustrate him now into a lucrative career as a lawyer, or something like that... though he’s already keenly aware of the tiring nature of parenting such a vivacious, curious little girl.

He returns to the task at hand, buries himself into lugging boxes up from the car and organizing as much as he can. He’s very pleased with how quickly things are coming along. Gabe had laughed snarkily and told him he was an idiot to try doing it without professional movers, even if it was just across town. And just look at him now.  

The girls are in Hannah’s room, together, hanging posters and Castiel in the kitchen going through the drawers, when the doorbell rings. 

The sound jerks out of the trance he’d been in and he looks over at the clock on the microwave. “Oh,” he mutters to himself. He’d totally lost track of time. “Hannah, your dad’s here! Is your bag packed and ready?”

There’s no response, but he hears a little voice whisper “oops” from down the hall and shakes his head. He runs over to the front door just a follow-up knock begins. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he’s already apologizing before he opens the door. And then he does and his eyes go up and something inside him clicks off. 

He wants to believe that it gets easier, seeing Dean. It’s been three years since they separated; though, to be fair, he hadn’t had to see Dean at all for the first two and a half. Now that they’re living in the same same area again, it’s been… well, it’s great that Hannah gets to see her dad, anyway. 

Cas looks Dean in the eyes and tries his hardest to muster up a warm, but not too warm, smile. “We’re running a little behind. I think Hannah was so excited to set her room up that she forgot to pack a bag.”

“No problem,” Dean shrugs affably, “I’m not in a rush. We don’t have any plans until dinner anyway.”

His emerald eyes shine with sincerity and his skin has this amazing, golden glow to it. 

Cas absently wonders what Dean might have been doing outside that could have turned him such a lovely shade of brown. Mowing the lawn, maybe, or he might have gone running, in one of those little pairs of black Army shorts he has... or had.

He blinks a few times, has to remind himself that Dean’s features are no longer his to appreciate. Divorce hasn’t made him blind, but his thinking like that is only going to complicate everything. And he’s not going to do that: not to himself, not to Dean; and certainly not to Hannah. 

Dean’s smile has turned just a little awkward, and Cas shrinks a bit. He’s gotten lost in his own thought; of course, he’s always doing that. He moves to the side of the door frame and gestures for Dean to enter. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Come on in, please.”

Dean does, striding confidently over the threshold. His eyes move in a circle around him, taking in the walls of the foyer in which they are standing. Castiel feels suddenly self-conscious, wishing that he’d had the place a little more impressive-looking by the time Dean arrived. 

Dean finishes the circular appraisal so that he’s facing Castiel. If he has any critiques, he’s certainly not letting them show. “Place is a big,” he surmises, “How’s the move coming along?”

It’s small talk. It’s fine. This is what they are now. 

Cas offers a neutral smile. He can do this. 

There’s no reason for him to feel awkward in Dean’s presence. He really should take Hannah’s advice, try to be friends with Dean. It could make things better for all of them. 

“It’s a mess,” he says honestly, directing Dean toward the kitchen. “She’s got so much stuff, I don’t even know where to begin putting it all. It makes me wonder how it all fit into that shoebox I was living in before.” 

Dean laughs loudly, and it’s so warm that it seems to melt some of the weirdness between them. He’d always had that affect on Castiel- and on everyone else, come to think of it. Dean Winchester is nothing if not a charmer.   

Castiel walks over to one of the windows that line the wall, running his fingers over the pane.

“I’m glad we’re in a bigger place now, all to ourselves. It’s got a little yard that she can play in, and an office for me,” he smiles at the sunlight that’s drifting in on his face. “You know, after a while it just gets embarrassing being cooped up in an apartment when you have a kid and you’re supposed to be a grown up. You know?” 

Turning back around, he finds that his ex-husband has gone a little red in the face. He looks sheepish almost, and it’s right then that Cas realizes he has gone and stuck his foot into his mouth. “Oh, no, but not you-- that’s not what I meant--”

But Dean stops him with a laugh, the corners of his lips twirling upward. “No, I know that you mean. And I agree, it is embarrassing. I’m happy for you guys, really.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to turn bright red. God, he always finds a way to make himself look like a jackass somehow. 

“And the place looks great,” Dean goes on. He focuses his attention firmly on Castiel’s face. “You earned this Cas. You got this fancy job and you bought a house. It’s gonna be great for you. For Hannah.”

He sounds so genuine. It makes Castiel feel almost uneasy, being confronted with such honesty. It’s not something he sees very often, given that he spends everyday surrounded by journalists who always seem to be out to undercut one another, to one-up the person beside them.. He diverts his eyes to the ground and wills his face to return to a normal color. 

“Well, thanks,” he mutters, in the direction of his shoes. Clearing his throat, he says more loudly, “I’ll, uh, go check if she’s ready.”

He turns away down the hall before he can hear anything else Dean has to say. He’s nervous that it will only serve to make him feel more unsettled, and between a new house and a new job, that’s a feeling he has more than enough of in his life right now. 

Cas pokes his head into the bedroom next to his and knocks his fist on the door in two quick successions. He takes a second as he stands there in the doorway to let his eyes take in the room. He rather like the mint green color of the walls, it’s overtly feminine like a lot of little girls’ rooms. He hopes he can convince her to keep it. 

When her little blond head whips around at look at him, Cas suddenly feels as if all is right with the world again. “Hi, honey. You all ready to go?”

“Mmhmm,” she answer, jerking up her overnight bag and trying to throw it over her shoulder. It’s a little too heavy, and she wobbles. But she’s smiling so wide that it pokes into her little, fat cheeks, and Castiel loves to see it so much that he has to lean down and give her a kiss right then. 

She takes his hands and they march together toward the dining room. When they reach the threshold, Castiel has to stop himself from sucking in a harsh breath of air. 

There, standing at the table, is Dean. In his hands, the silver frame. The wedding photo. 

He should have put it away, should have made sure that it was stuffed in a place where no mishaps like this could have happened. He supposes that the situation itself is not necessarily dire. But in looking over Dean's face, Castiel can only describe the expression there as unreadable. 

When he sees it, it stirs a feeling in him that's strangely familiar, and oddly painful. He's not sure what that feeling is- only that he’s going to need a large glass of wine once Hannah and Dean are out of the house. 

“Daddy!”

Hannah leaps forward and throws herself at Dean’s leg. He looks over at her and his eyes go wide. He bends down and scoops her up, wrapping his large arms around her so hard that it looks like he’ll crush her. 

Watching this, Castiel feels like everything is going to be fine. He’s glad that Dean decided to move back home again, glad that Hannah gets to see both of hers dads now. And he knows that Dean loves her ever ounce as much as he does himself. 

So no matter what tension exists between him and Dean, not that it always does, but just sometimes-- that doesn’t matter. They’re both great dads. And nothing could get in the way of that. 

“I missed you, daddy,” Hannah says in a heartbreakingly adorable voice. 

Dean presses a kiss into her mess of hair. “Oh, pumpkin. I missed you too.

“Hi, Dean.”

A voice has popped up behind Castiel. He turns his head just in time to see his sister walk up beside him. She’s wearing a neutral expression on her face, but he knows her well enough to see that there’s something lurking beneath the surface of her cool facade.  

Dean looks over and smiles, though this one looks like it might be hiding a mild horror. “Oh, hey, Anna. Long time no see.”

Anna nods, shoving her hands into her pockets. Castiel feels almost as if he’s in the middle of some kinds of testosterone-fueled turf war (Anna always had been the more butch of their siblings). He steps forward to cut in before someone tries to pee on something. 

“I’ll walk you guys out,” he offers, waving Dean over back toward the foyer. Anna narrows her eyes and follows the movement. 

“Bye, Dean,” she calls out, and Cas thinks that it sounds exactly as menacing as it was meant to. 

He gives Hannah another big, fat kiss and tells her that he can’t wait to see her on Sunday. Then he tells her to have fun with her dad, at which she giggles and says, “I always have fun with Daddy. He’s the best.”

And that does _not_ make Castiel at all jealous to hear. It doesn’t. Though, after being the only parent in her life for so long, it does take a little bit of adjusting to get used to. 

“Yeah,” he says to her warmly, leaning in to give her one last squeeze. He comes back up to adult height and looks to Dean. “Well. See you Sunday.”

Dean gives him a perfunctory nod. “See ya Sunday.”

There’s a moment’s pause when they’re just looking at each other, the two of them there. Then, as quick as all that, Dean turns away out the door, and they’re gone. 

Cas is left with a heavy feeling. It happens every time Hannah leaves to spend the weekend with her other dad. Sure, a little time off to himself is always nice, but… if he’s being honest, he’d rather not have it. Rather not have to share her, really. 

“He’s so totally still in love with you.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Castiel jumps in surprise at the red head of hair that’s sprung up beside him. “Stop sneaking around like that, it’s creepy.”

He starts heading back toward the kitchen and Anna follows, hot on his heels. “You’re avoiding my point.”

Castiel turns to face her so that she can fully see the drama with which he rolls his eyes. “He is _not_ still in love with me. And I’m not in love with him.”

“I didn’t say that you were.” She crosses the kitchen and hoists up another box onto the counter. She pulls out spatulas and whisks, placing them onto the granite countertop beside her. 

Slowly, Castiel makes his way over to her side and also starts to unload the same box. “Out of curiosity,” he says, waving around a potato masher. “Why do you say that he is?”

“Oh, please.” She pulls out a drawer, dumping a few utensils into it. “Did you see the way he was looking at that wedding picture? Or, for that matter, how he was looking at you?”

Cas pauses to think. He doesn’t see anything abnormal in the way they looked at each other. There’s always left-over feelings between two people after a separation. It doesn’t mean anything. 

He walks over to the drawer where she’d put the things and opens it, moving them from it into their proper place. “If there were any strange looks- which I don’t believe there were- it’s probably just residual awkwardness. I mean, we’ve barely seen each other at all since… everything. He probably just doesn’t know how to act.”

Anna rolls her eyes, with drama to match her brother. “Yeah, or maybe he’s a broken hearted little puppy who still wants to be married to you.”

Castiel stares at her, and he can feel himself going distant. A futile thought passes through his mind, a picture of what life would be like if her and Dean were still married. If they were moving into this house together. A painful tug pulls inside his chest and he shakes his head. 

“...why exactly did you guys break up again?”

He raises his eyes and finds her staring at him curiously, playing with some unidentifiable kitchen toy that he’d mostly likely bought and never used. Or that he’d gotten as a wedding present. 

Castiel slams a drawer shut loudly. “You know exactly why. I’m not talking about this right now.”

He stomps his feet over to the one box that seems most important in the moment, labeled FRAGILE in large letters. “Now,” he says, holding up two wine glasses in his hands. “Be a good sister and open that bottle of red I was saving.”

And for once, Anna shuts her mouth and listens. 


	2. Chapter 2

Cas stops by the office one Sunday afternoon before he heads over to Dean’s to pick up Hannah. He’s got the time, and honestly, he thinks he could really use it to get ahead of all his assignments. Or, at least get caught up.

It’s only been a few weeks since he’s been working at the Post, and already he feels like he’s drowning it. He loves the work, loves slogging through the research and spending hours trying to find the right way to turn a simple phrase into poetry. But it’s tough, and he doesn’t want to ask for help. He wants his co-workers to think that he’s smart and capable, like them. That he deserves their respect.

If that takes a little weekend work, so be it. It’s not like he has anything much going on when Hannah’s gone anyway (but don’t let his siblings know that, or he won’t ever hear the end of it).

Right now, he’s sifting through some of the older issues of the paper, trying to look for some insight on his senior editor’s style and taste. At least, if he knows what he’s trying to emulate, he’ll be better equipped for his next staff meeting.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

A sense of relief washes over Castiel when he hears his other editor’s smooth British accent. The hairs that had prickled nervously on the back of his neck settle back down as he turns around in his chair.

“Oh, hi there, Mr. Freely,” he sighs.

The Brit rolls his eyes. “Castiel, please. Call me Balthazar. Or Balth. Or B, whatever you want. Just not _Mr. Freely_.” He shudders when he repeats the name and it forces a laugh out of Castiel.

“Alright, if you say so, s-- Balth.” It feels strange to say it, but Cas is glad to be allowed the small intimacy of a first name basis with his boss.

He knows that Balthazar likes him, which is more than he can say for Zachariah, the senior editor. In fact, he’s more than a little bit sure that Balthazar is the reason he got this job in the first place, and so Castiel feels a great amount of debt toward him.

“Hard at work, are we?” Balthazar leans down over his desk and desk and eyes the papers spread over the surface.

“I just thought I’d pop in for a bit to do some research.”

“And on the weekend, even,” adds Balthazar with an approving nod. He moves in a bit closer to Castiel and rests one hand on his shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. “Well, you know we’re quite appreciative of things like that. A little extra effort, here and there.”

Castiel smiles at the praise. The hand on his shoulder moves from firm to soft, running smoothly over the curve of his arm.

“I think you’re going to do quite well for yourself here, Castiel,” Balth soothes. “You’re clever, and you’re capable. That makes you stand out in a place like this.”

The thought pleases Cas. This is the kind of job he’s always dreamed of, the kind he used to fantasize about when he was sitting around at home waiting for his husband to come back from his own adventures. To be able to call himself a success at it… that would fill him with such an immeasurable kind of pride.

"And you're feeling... comfortable?" Balthazar's fingers cease their movement and return to sit on Castiel's shoulder.

"Oh, yes," he assures. "Very. Everyone's been very nice." Not true, but he doesn't want his boss to think of him as a tattletale. 

He waits a moment to see if Balthazar has anything else to say, and when there’s no follow-up, Cas coughs into his arm. He looks down at his watch and immediately goes to collect his things. If he doesn’t leave now, he’ll be late to get Hannah.

“I’ve got to go now,” he says apologetically, reaching for his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“ _À demain_ ,” returns Balthazar with an air of sophistication, pulling back his hand and offering a regal kind of wave. 

Cas slings his bag over his shoulder and marches out of the office, towards his car, and the whole time he has the sensation of eyes following him.

He arrives at Dean’s building five minutes before schedule- which to him still feels late, but. Oh, well.

He finds Dean’s name on the list of residents and presses the button beside it. While he waits, his eyes glide over to the mailboxes that line the same wall. He finds Dean’s name there as well, _D. Winchester_ , and underneath in a child’s messy hand is another sticker that reads _and Hannah!_

Castiel feels a pleasant fluttering in his chest just as a loud noise shakes the room and announces the unlocking of the door. He walks through it and mounts the staircase up to Dean’s second-floor apartment.

Dean’s building is... decent. It’s fine, really, just not what Castiel had pictured his ex living in for his first apartment on his own. It was more like a college kid’s apartment than an adult, a parent, a veteran of war.

But, come to think of it, he shouldn’t be surprised at Dean’s choice. He’d live in a shoebox if he could; one room with a bed and a TV and he’d be set. Back when they’d lived together, it had always been Castiel who was interested in decorating, in making a home out of the places they found.

“Hi, Daddy!” a voice calls loudly while he’s still walking down the hall. He looks up, but before his eyes can focus a blurry blonde vision is rushing down the hall and jumping into his arms.

“Hello, Hannah,” he says with a smile. He pulls her in tight and presses his nose into her hair, allowing one big sniff before he pulls back. “Mm, you smell good. Did you miss me?”

“Do I smell like cookies?” she asks with a big grin. “Daddy and I made cookies.”

“Ooh, yummy, what kind?”

“Oatmeal raisin,” a much deeper voice answers from down the halls. “You wanna take some home?”

Castiel purses his lips, and tries not to smile. “I’ve never imagined you as the oatmeal raisin type.”

Dean’s eyes flicker with a bit of mischief. “Yeah, well, I had a request...”

Cas turns to Hannah in surprise. She rocks a bit in his arms and tells him, “Lucas’ mom made them for his birthday and they were soooo yummy.”

“Well, whatever works,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her, and he walks down the hall toward Dean's door. 

Hannah is all packed and ready to go, which is both unlike her and unlike Dean, so color Castiel impressed. Dean places a few warm cookies onto a plate and covers it in aluminum foil, and when he reaches out to hand the plate to Castiel, their fingers brush against each other's with just the softest contact. 

It's so minor, Castiel doesn't even know why he jumps at the brush of Dean's rough skin. When Dean's eyes dart up toward his, he wants to kick himself harshly in the shin. He averts his gaze, murmurs a quick thanks for the treat, and commits himself to silence until he and Hannah are out the door. 

Dean gives Hannah a kiss and he and Cas exchange a quick "see you Friday", and then Cas races out the door and down the hall, glad for every new inch of space between him and his ex. 

She climbs into the backseat of the Prius and buckles herself in, wedged in firmly to her booster seat. She asks him to turn on the radio, and so he does, to her favorite station. As he pulls out of his parking spot and into the busy street, he can hear her humming softly to herself. Even though his eyes are focused on the road, he can't stop himself from gazing back at her every so often and just smiling at the look on her face.

It's _incredible_ how much he misses her when she's gone. Even when she's just across town, even when he knows he'll see her soon, and that she's with the only other person who could possibly love her as much as he does. If he didn't feel it for himself, he'd never believe someone who tried to describe the sensation to him. 

“Daddy?” she pipes up after a short while. 

Cas glances at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes, princess?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

He can’t pretend the question doesn’t shock him. His eyes flick to the mirror once more, brows pressed together. She, however, looks only vaguely interested in his answer.

“Why would you ask that?” He tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice, and fails. 

Her sapphire blue eyes are aimed out the window. There’s such a sense of carefree attitude about her. “Daddy asked me if you did.”

Cas almost slams his foot on the break.

That’s… why would Dean ask that? 

 _Don't be stupid_ , Cas scolds himself. There's plenty of reasons he'd want to know what kind of people Cas was bringing into Hannah's life. It's a perfectly normal question in a post-divorce. Probably. He wouldn't know. All this is still very new to him. 

Castiel takes a long moment to consider his answer. “If I had a boyfriend, you would know, Hannah. I’d never keep a secret like that from you.”

She shrugs, apparently pleased by his answer.

And even though Castiel knows it's a horrible idea, that the last thing he wants to do is drag their daughter into whatever mess their personal lives might consist of, he hears himself stuttering out, “Does… does Daddy have a boyfriend?”

Before he can even take a second to look at her face, he changes his mind. “D-don’t tell him I asked. Forget that I said that.”

Hannah says nothing in response to this. Her eyes continue to stare out the window, and Castiel goes to turn up the volume of the music. They fall into silence for the next few minutes, and Cas worries to himself that this is going to negatively affect the way she thinks about her fathers. 

“Hey, Daddy?”

“Yes?” he replies nervously. 

“Can we play Operation when we get home?”

A breathe of air leaves Castiel like he's been punched. A change of subject. That's nice and welcome. “Yes. We can play whatever you want.”

He’s happy that the week seems to move along without anymore awkward incidences, and he’s hopeful that his daughter’s forgotten all about their car ride conversation. He does not want her their conversation to Dean. Cas has certain questions about Dean's inquiry into his personal life, but for right now, he's going to forget the exchange ever happened. If he were to indulge the idea, it would only serve to make their lives murkier.

Hannah is particularly well-behaved all week, though he can’t say she’s especially pleased when he picks her up from school on Thursday and announces that they are going to head to the grocery store.

“I don’t want to go to the store!” she shouts, because she is at an age where one of her favorite pastimes is to scream about something just to see if she can get away with it.

Castiel, however, has a few tricks up his sleeve. “If you come shopping with me, and you behave, I’ll let you pick out a snack.”

She slows her feet just before they reach the car and stares off, considering. “A muffin?” she asks.

“If you’re good.”

Which of course in her minds means that the muffin is already good and hers, so the whole while she climbs into the car and buckles herself into her seat, she’s singing a little song to celebrate her victory. It’s funny, how kids always seems to think they’ve got the upper hand on their parents. Castiel chuckles and pulls out of the school parking lot.

The minute they get into the store, Hannah attempts to run off toward the pastry case, and Cas has to reach out a hand and pull her back. “You can get your snack at the end. First, we’re buying vegetables.”

This produces a sound of protest from the little girl, but it’s short-lived. Cas grabs a carriage and starts to circle around the produce section, wondering what he should make for dinner that evening. Maybe a ratatouille, but ideally he'd have a bit more time for that...

“Daddy!”

He looks up, expecting Hannah to be running toward him with another sugary request he’ll have to turn down. But instead, he sees that she’s running away from him. His head quirks to the side as he follows her with his eyes, until they find not only his daughter, but another similar form as well. 

“Dean?” he says with a certain wariness as he approaches. “How funny to run into your here.”

“Yeah," Dean replies, looking light and fresh. Cas imagines he's just come from work. "It is funny. I just popped into a grab a couple of things. You guys shop here a lot?”

Cas nods. “Yes. It’s close to the house… we’re just stocking up on a few things today. Her favorite cereal, things like that.”

Hannah glowers in Dean’s direction and tells him in a low voice, “It’s _not_ my favorite cereal.”

“Not unless it’s Frosted Cocoa Pops, right?” He sinks down onto her knees and offers a hand, which Hannah readily slaps with an enthusiastic high five. He rises back up with a crooked smile and looks to Cas, who is trying his hardest not to grimace.

“Please tell me that’s not the kind of sugary crap you feed her on the weekends.”

Dean looks down to Hannah and shrugs. “Alright. I won’t tell you.”

“Daddy, daddy, come shopping with us,” begs Hannah, already wrapped around his forearm and attempting to pull him across the floor. “Daddy said I can pick out a muffin. Please, please.”

Dean looks uneasily to Cas. “I wouldn't wanna get in your way.”

Cas purses his lips, thinking. _You’re friends now. Try to act like i_ t.

“No, feel free to join us,” he offers, and when Dean still looks unsure, he adds, “I insist. I need to do some espionage into what poison you’re feeding our daughter.”

Dean laughs, in that big loud way where Cas feels like he has to laugh, too. It always makes him feel full inside, like the sound of his laughter fills up the empty spaces in Castiel.

“Come _on_ ,” Hannah pulls hard, tugging Dean along with her.

He watches them from a few steps behind, mostly, up and down each of the aisles. It’s not often that he gets to see them interacting together, at least not for long periods. Dean is great with her. They seem to have a nice relationship between them, a very silly one.

Every once in a while Dean turns around and throws him a look or a shrug, as if acknowledging that the little girl is a force all on her own.

When finally they get to the bakery section, Hannah turns to Castiel with bright, pleading eyes. “Go ahead,” he tells her softly with a nod and she detaches herself from Dean to run off

With the two of them left alone, Castiel takes the opportunity to try and strike up conversation.

“So,” he starts, “how are you feeling to be back in Pontiac?”

Dean smiles at him sideways. “It’s good.” The uncertainty in his voice makes Castiel raise an eyebrow at him, and Dean releases another laugh. “You know, it’s different. But at least I get to see Hannah, and Sammy.”

Cas nods. He knows how much family has always meant to Dean. “And work?”

At that, Dean rolls his eyes a bit. “It’s alright. I like working with the cars, and I’m glad I still get to use my hands, but… it’s not as exciting.”

Cas shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, I’m sure.”

He’s sure it’s nothing like firing a weapon, or being deployed halfway across the world. Even just the thought makes his throat feel tight, Dean throwing himself into danger like that. He knows he doesn’t have the right to be concerned, but it makes him feel angry that Dean would ever want to put himself in harm’s way--

“And you?” Cas looks up to see Dean staring at him curiously. “How’s the new job?”

He shakes his head and conjures up a smile. He needs to stop letting himself get so carried away.

“It’s good. It’s hard, fast-paced, but I love it. I can tell one of my editors is skeptical of me, but the other one really seems to like me.”

“Well, that’s great,” Dean says. There’s something funny in the way he says it, and Castiel shoots him a look, curious, but before he can give it too much thought their conversation is abruptly interrupted.

“Daddy!” Hannah comes charging back over to them. “I picked out my muffin. It’s pina colada.”

“Piña colada?” Castiel repeats with a laugh, looking over to see Dean with a similar surprise on his face. “You’re sure? It’s pineapple and coconut, is that okay?”

“Yes, Daddy, I know, I can _read_ the sign.”

Cas raises his hands in surrender, but can’t stop laughing as he tells her, “Alright then, let’s take it over to the register.”

Hannah walks ahead of them with confident strides, eyeing her muffin with adoration.

“Already into the piña coladas,” Dean mutters beside him, “our little girl’s growing up fast.”

Cas watches her from a few steps behind, and agrees. “Yes, she is. Much too fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running like a steam train over here, chugging out these chapters. Didn't proofread this one too much, let me know if you catch any mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a sunny morning when Castiel invites his siblings over a for a lovely midday get together. The doorbell rings and he leaves Anna to set the table, walking breezily down the hall towards the entryway. This house is finally starting to feel like a home, he reflects happily to himself, just as the door swings open to reveal his boisterous older brother standing on the front steps, a large box resting in one hand. 

“I’ve got pizza!”

“Gabe,” Castiel chastises, “I asked you to bring something for brunch.”

“Now that’s just unfair.” Gabe’s face contorts into twisted pout. “If I put cheese and tomatoes on some egg, call it an omelette, that’s a breakfast food. Put it on a crust and everyone turns into a snob.”

Cas scoffs and steps aside. “Alright, just- come in. Anna’s already back there.”

Gabe smiles a wide, toothy grin at his little brother as he steps inside, pizza box still in hand. “Don’t mind if I do.” And then, as he marches confidently down the hall, he sings out in a deep baritone, “Somebody mimosa me, stat!”

Castiel can’t do anything but shake his head. Sometimes he hasn’t the slightest clue how his parents managed to raise three children who turned out to be so entirely different. He turns and closes the front door softly, and patters back down the hallway toward the dining room.

Just as he enters, a pleasant smile sitting on his face as he notices the way the natural sunlight floods in through the windows, Anna turns to him with a look of annoyance painted on her face. “Cas, can you please explain to Gabriel why we don't eat quiche with our hands.”

Gabe immediately turns toward Castiel to defend himself, “It's just another type of pizza!”

Cas pulls a chair out from the table without looking at either of them. He coolly responds, “I invited you both here to enjoy a lovely mid-morning meal on a holiday as adults. Are you going to start acting as such, or do I need to pull out a few of Hannah’s old booster seats for you?”

Anna sends a righteous glare towards Gabe as she sits down next to Cas. Gabriel makes a great show of pretending not to notice as he takes his own seat. Instead, he grabs his champagne glass and raises his brows to Castiel, asking, “Where is the little shrimp anyway? I was looking forward to playing a game of five-card stud with her.”

Cas bristles at the idea of Gabriel teaching his daughter how to play poker, but keeps his thoughts to himself. No use poking the bear. Instead, he takes a sip of his own beverage. “She is with Dean today.”

Gabe frowns. “But it’s Monday.”

“Yes, but it’s a holiday, so it’s _technically_ still the weekend.” Castiel makes sure to sound exceedingly casual when he says it. “Plus, I thought it would be nice to let her spend a little extra time with her other dad. But, if you’d like to see her, she has a performance at school this Thursday.”

“Ooh, is that so?" Gabriel gleams with an inquisitive air. "A little thespian in our midsts?”

Castiel allows his lips to curl into a proud smirk. “Oh, yes. She’s playing a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving, and she’s fiercely proud.” He reaches across the table and serves himself some quiche and a bit of salad. “I figure I’ll spare her the lesson on the historical inaccuracies in the script at least until after she’s finished.”

He doesn’t noticed the way silence hangs in the air, the sense of some question going unasked, until he looks over to see Gabe fiddling with his napkin and pointedly looking down at the pizza on his plate. 

“And, um," he hedges, "how are things now that Mr. Deano is back in the area?”

He’s barely finished the question before Anna lets out an indignant scoff and downs the majority of her mimosa. Cas can tell this brunch is not going to be nearly as fun, or as mature, as he had hoped. 

“Things are exactly as they were before, Gabriel,” he says dismissively. 

“Aw, come on. There's really nothing brewing there? No rekindling of any kind?" Gabriel bites viciously into a slice of pizza, but wears a frown. "I always thought you two were so cute together.”

Before Cas can even conjure up any sort of response to that- not that he knows what to say to the idea- Anna puts down her fork and jumps in for him. 

“Oh, yeah,” she responds darkly, “real cute. You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Gabe. You weren’t there at the end, you didn’t have to listen to the way Cas would cry on the phone every day--”

“Anna, please--” Castiel tries to butt in, only to have his brother hop in over his words. 

“Maybe _you_ don’t know what you’re talking about, since you were barely in training bras when they got hitched. I was there, and let me tell you: I’ve never seen two kids so crazy for each other!”

“Key word beings _kids_ \--”

“ _Could I get a word in here_?” Castiel yells out at last, loud enough to make both of them shut their traps long enough to look at him. He's normally so reserved, so conservative, and especially on this subject; but somehow our siblings are always able to drive us into madness greater what we had thought ourselves capable. “Or are you two planning to continue debating _my_ family in _my_ house house without any input from me?"

Anna has the decency to look Cas in the eye to convey her shame, whereas Gabriel stares down at his lap and fiddles with his napkin. 

“I am only going to say this once,” he warns, “and then we are going to drop this subject, forever. Dean is the father of my child. We are co-parents. He’s always going to be in my life, yes, but only as Hannah’s other father, and nothing more.”

“We tried, we failed, and it’s over now. _But_ ,” this part he directs only to his sister, “that doesn’t mean we don’t respect and care for each other.”

He takes a deep breath and hands his glass to Anna for a refill. “Now, can we move on and try to have a civilized meal? Or is that too much to ask?”

Anna returns his glass, freshly filled with a healthy champagne-to-orange juice ratio. Her lips curl into a half-smile, and she murmurs, “It would be a bit more civilized if Gabe had brought something other than pizza.”

“When will this family’s vendetta on all of life’s greatest pleasures cease?” Gabe cries, and for now the tension fades. 

Castiel exhales a deep breath of air and relaxes into his chair. God, family can be stressful. He doesn't know why he'd expected anything else when he invited Gabriel and Anna over. 

Dean is, at best, a prickly subject, no matter how much Castiel desires him not to be. All he wants is to be able to looks at him and feel nothing. Which, right now, is not the case. He might not know what it is he's feeling, but he knows it's not helping anything. Nor is being stuck in the middle of this sibling squabble, with his brother and sister each pulling in a different direction. 

Cas shakes his head and taps his fork mindlessly on his plate.

"You want some pizza, little bro?"

"No, Gabriel... I'm good."

 

 

The following day at work brings another staff meeting, which brings a new rounds of nerves for Castiel. He’s been to a few of these already, but it still feels like a ton of pressure, especially when he can feel Zachariah’s distaste for him emanating off of the older man. 

A part of him wonders what exactly it is about him that irks his editor so much. Is it his youthful energy? His sincere positivity? It could be that the older man is homophobic… but no, Cas doesn’t know how anyone at the office would know anything about his personal life, beside the fact that he has a daughter. That he displays quite prominently, his little work area housing several photos of her and drawings she’s made. 

In any case, the meetings slides by without much cause for worry from Cas. He pitches his idea for a new article about changes in the local education system, and receives no outright negativity from Zach. His fellow contributors react with mostly bored indifference. 

None of them have warmed much to him in the months since he’s joined the team; no one except for Pamela, an older woman with rough edges who is also a single parent, to a teenage son. Sometimes, when Castiel chats with her about her son, he feels a grave anxiety about the adventures that await him in the next ten years… but it’s nice to be able to have a friendly at least.

They’re doing just that, chatting outside the meeting room, Pamela giving him a few leads for info on his education article- when Balthazar strides up beside them and flashes him them all of his bright, perfectly white teeth. 

“Hello, hello, my little worker bees,” he greets them, “what are up buzzing about over here? A bit of office gossip, hm?”

Castiel snorts at the idea. What 'office gossip' there might be at the _Post_ would not be of any interest to him. “Hardly. Pamela was just trying to help me with my article.”

Balthazar’s eyes slide to the woman beside him. “Well, isn’t that kind of her? And you two getting on thick as thieves. I’m absolutely tickled.”

Cas just nods mutely, but he can’t help noticing the look on Pam’s face when Balthazar talks. It’s almost like a sneer, like she’s caught a bad smell or something. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed in a forward glance, but lets them tick down once to Castiel in a gesture he can't quite read. 

“Cas, if you have a moment?”

His attention is called back at the sound of his name, and he looks toward Balthazar. The editor takes him gently by the elbow and directs them down the hall, along the wall of windows with the sweeping view of the Chicago skyline in the distance.

“You know, I was really intrigued by some of the points you brought up in the meeting. I was hoping you’d like to discuss them further with me… say, over dinner? Let’s say Thursday evening.”

His immediate reaction is to jump at the opportunity to have a little alone time with his editor. To have the chance to talk his ear off, to pitch every great idea he's got and show Balth just how he plans to earn his keep. Not to mention, it's obvious that Balthazar is a man of taste, and Castiel wouldn't mind a proper evening out with an adult for the first time in... too long. 

But just before he can accept the invitation, his face falls. Thursday. That's the day of Hannah's play, and there's nothing in the world that would make him miss his baby girl's big show.

So he slumps his shoulders and sends his apologies. “I’d love to, Balthazar, but I’ve got somewhere I have to be that night.”

“Oh, come now," coos Balth, "You can’t make a little time for your favorite boss?”

Castiel grimaces. He sincerely hopes this won’t leave a bad taste in Balth’s mouth where it comes to him. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

The Brit sighs, but does nothing to hide his clear displeasure. “Well, fine. I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to me.”

“I will,” Cas readily answers, “I promise. Another night. In fact, let's do next Thursday.” 

He'll have Hannah that night, but surely he can figure something out; after all, this an opportunity to have a private audience with the man who holds the future of Cas' career in his manicured hands. 

A slow grin spreads over Balthazar's face, and Castiel could swear that one of his teeth glimmers like he's in a commercial for toothpaste. "Alright," his boss agrees in that overly-charming accent, "next Thursday. Don't you forget about me."

"Of course not," Cas is quick to respond. Balthazar tosses a wink over his way and then turns away and glides down the hall. There's something so elegant in the way he moves, in the way he does everything. Maybe all English people are like that, Cas thinks. 

Not that he'd know. The farthest he's gotten from Pontiac was to an army base in Texas, and then he'd just ended up right back here again. 

In any case, he returns to his desk feeling quite a bit bolstered by the conversation. Can Anna take Hannah that night? He hopes so. In fact, he'll make her. He'll send the text right now...

Not twenty seconds after Balthazar takes his leave does another form appear in front of Cas’ desk. It's Pamela, tall and dark and brooding. She cuts right to the point, not time for bullshit. “I'm gonna tell you something. You can take it or leave it, but I’ll feel like a prick if I don’t say anything.”

Well, that certainly gets his attention. Cas clears the papers in front of his and sets his eyes on his colleague. “I won’t say you’re not giving me anxiety, but go ahead.”

Her fingernails tap on the side of the mug she's holding. She appears to be weighing something internally. Finally, she spits out, “Just... be aware of Balthazar. If you know what I mean.”

He doesn't, and he's not sure if it's the best idea to ask for further explanation. She's gone before he can decide one way or the other, and as she goes, Balth appears once more beside his desk. “Oh, Castiel, one more thing?”

He lifts his head in interest. Balthazar is still wearing that Colgate smile. “I couldn’t help noticing all the pictures on your desk.” His hands gesture to the display on Castiel's desk, at which Cas actually feels a bit of pride. 

“Oh, yes," Cas says, "That’s my daughter, Hannah.”

“Yes, a precious little thing she is," Balthazar concurs. It sounds a little forced, but that's alright. She's not his kid. "It’s just that I hadn’t realized you were married.”

“Oh,” Castiel blushes a deep shade of pink, “I’m not.”

He hopes that he won’t have to explain any further. This is exactly the kind of reason why he wants to keep his personal life firmly out of the office. Beside the fact that it's just embarrassing, people tend to make all kinds of assumptions about divorced people. If they can't make a marriage work, whose to say they won't fail in the same way at their work. _Was it a question of effort? You just didn't want to try anymore?_

People often feel entitled to an opinion on the matter, once they find out. So Castiel would rather just avoid the whole thing, if he can.

But Balthazar doesn't ask any more questions. He just looks pleased, wrapping his fingers tightly around the edge of Cas' cubicle. "Good," he says, "That's very good." 

He turns and goes then, and Cas is left with a feeling of satisfaction. It feels good, to know that Balth values his opinion, that he wants to hear _more_ about what Cas has to say. When he reaches his phone to follow up on those leads, he feels a swell of satisfaction inside him. And he pointedly tries to ignore the grave way that Pamela glances at him every so often. 

 

 

Two days later, he’s seated in the second row of aluminum folding chairs in the auditorium of Hannah’s school. He was the first one there, of course, so he’s reserved a section of seats beside him, uncertain of how many people to expect. Gabe said he would try to swing by, and Dean’s coming of course…. though Cas doesn’t know if he’s bringing anyone. He suspects not. You wouldn’t bring a date to your child’s holiday play. Right?

A few minutes later, Dean arrives and Castiel slides out to allow him to move past. They exchange quick hellos and small smiles. In fact, he does have someone with him, but Castiel actually finds this addition to be a pleasant surprise. 

“Sam!” he yells, perhaps a little too loudly, “It’s been ages. How great to see you.”

He finds himself wrapped up into a tight hug and lifted some inches off the ground. When Sam places him gently on the ground again, he looks down at Cas softly. “Hey, buddy,” he greets, with the kindness that Castiel has come to expect from his former-brother-in-law.  

A guilt nags at Castiel like a phantom limb. When he'd first moved back to Pontiac, Sam had been one of the first people he contacted. Yes, Sam had once been someone Cas considered a close friends, but more importantly, he was Hannah’s uncle and he had every right to spend time with his niece. Castiel was more than happy to drop her off for a Sunday or let Sam know when her dance recitals would be. But then, as time passed, Cas had gotten so busy and it was difficult to find the time or remember to make plans... 

But now, Dean is back as well, and Cas suspects that means that Sam got to see Hannah just about every weekend now. Which, well… all’s well that ends well. 

He wonders from the serene look on Sam’s face if maybe his former brother-in-law is thinking something along the same lines. Best to let the whole thing drop. No use lingering on the past. 

“You know, if you’re lucky, there’s a chance my brother might be coming by as well. You remember Gabe, right?”

Sam looks over to Dean and then back to Castiel, his face going through several changes starting with surprise and ending with resignation. “Yeah, that’s… great. Hey, why doesn’t everyone just scootch down a bit?” He squeezes in past Castiel and past Dean so that the only seat left open is the farthest away from him. He sits down and heaves a relieved sigh. “There, that’s a little better, isn’t it?”

Cas turns his head to where Dean sits beside him and finds that Dean's giving him a sort of _what can you do?_ look. Castiel has to laugh. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he surmises with a lopsided grin. Gabe can be a lot to handle, and for some reason he’d always taken a shine to the younger Winchester brother. Cas hadn’t the slightest clue why, but he can’t blame Sam for wanting to keep their interaction to a minimum. 

So he dutifully slides in to the seat left for him, the one next to Dean. He pretends not to notice the way Dean’s jean-clad leg rests comfortably against his. Or the way his eyes still manage to sparkle in the dim, fluorescent lighting of the school room. 

“What do you think?”

“Hmm?” Castiel snaps to attention, raising his eyes to meet his ex-husband’s. 

Dean smiles softly. “About Hannah. How do you think she’ll do?”

Cas holds back a sigh. “Considering how seriously she took it, I can’t imagine there’s any way she’ll forget her line.”

“I know,” Dean agrees hastily, “she made me run lines with her for _an hour_ yesterday. I think I can recite the play by heart.” He tosses a sideways glance to Castiel and straightens his back, repeating like a robot the singular line Hannah had to remember: “ _We thank you, noble indians, for all you have done for us_.”

The shared, private laughter that sits between them hangs in the air, rapidly shifting the feeling in the air around them. Castiel catches himself tittering flirtatiously, like a schoolgirl, and he instantly pulls himself back into check. 

Hoping to change the subject, he mutters, “I do feel uncomfortable with the use of the terms 'indians', but I decided to just let her enjoy the play, for now.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. So I told her that we’re supposed to say Native Americans instead.”

Castiel rustles. “You did?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Well, yeah. I just knew you’d want me too.”

Dean gives a shrug, like it’s no big deal. And it isn’t, Cas supposes. But still, he feels overwhelmed with emotion, like he might cry or something. Which feels silly, but also doesn’t. 

It's just... how considerate of Dean. He didn't have to do that. Certainly he doesn't care at all about political correctness, or things like that. 

What a beautiful moment of co-parenting. Who knew that it could be like this? He didn't. He feels like he appreciates Dean on a new level, knowing that he takes Cas’ wishes into consideration when he’s not around. 

And just then, something comes along to dampen the moment before it can get too out of hand. 

“Hey, hey!”

Gabe bounds in beside them and claps Cas loudly on the shoulder. “I made it! Excited to see the little cutie patootie recounting the ravage of the natives-- hey, look who’s here!”

His face lights up when his eyes fall upon Dean’s face, and (luckily, Cas thinks) Dean seems determined to be a good sport about it. 

“Deano! You’re looking boyishly handsome as ever. So great to see y-- _oh my god_ , is that a moose I see down there?” A mischievous sparkle twirls over Gabriel’s face. “Move over, Cas, I’m gonna sit next to Samantha.”

Just then, the lights overheard start to go down as the stage lights rise. Sam throws up his hands as if to say there’s nothing they can do now. “You better take a seat, Gabe,” he whisper-shouts down the line. “Play’s starting.”

“We’ll catch up after the show,” Gabriel responds in the worst whisper ever attempted. He darts a hand between himself and Sam, who responds with a thumbs up so enthusiastic Castiel is sure it's meant to be sarcastic. 

Hannah is, of course, brilliant in her performance as the young pilgrim woman. Cas watches her with rapt attention, probably more than is merited by an elementary school performance; but he can’t help it. She is the most important thing in his world, and right now everything she does is so wonderful and adorable that he wishes he could give her even more than his full attention. 

And when she recites her one line, loud and proud, and she opts to change _indians_ to _Native Americans_ , he turns to Dean with the widest smile he can possibly manage and finds that Dean is looking at much with much the same expression. Without knowing what he’s doing, he reaches over and gives Dean a high-five. 

That’s… a little weird. But it seemed like the only thing he could do with the energy he felt. He couldn’t _kiss_ Dean or hug him. 

It’s just another one of those weird divorce moments. 

It won't always be like this between them, he's sure. Things will get easier. 

When the play finishes and all the little players take their bows, Cas has to reign in the men around him to stop them from giving a standing ovation. Not that it's not deserved, but it would be a bit embarrassing for all involved. 

The crowd starts to break up as parents search for children, and Sam volunteers to go and grab Hannah- so of course Gabriel decides to tag along. Dean mutters something about going in search of the snack bars, but before he can make a move Castiel lays his hand gently on due arm to stop him. Dean freezes, and Cas takes the opportunity to raise a question. 

“Oh, while I have you, I wanted to ask you if you could take her next Thursday night,” he says suddenly when the thought strikes. Dean just stares at him for a moment. He begins to add on, “If you can’t it’s no problem, I can have Anna or Gabe take her, but I figured it’s only a day early and you might want to have her...”

“Yeah, sure," Dean jumps in after a moment. "No problem. What’s up?”

“I just have a dinner.”

Is it just his imagination or does Dean’s face fall when he said that? 

That's bizarre. 

“It’s just a work thing,” Cas spits out without warning, and has no idea why he felt the need to add that. Dean doesn't need to know that. How Cas spends his evenings is entirely his affair, and he doesn’t have to justify it to anyone. 

So... why did he say that, then? And why does he feel much better when Dean’s warm smile returns to its rightful place on his face?

He doesn’t know; and frankly, he doesn’t even want to start investigating for fear of what he might turn up. 

But, still. It’s nice to see Dean smile. 

"Okay. Cool," Dean says, and Cas can only release the breath of air he'd been holding in. “Should we go search for our little Meryl Streep?”

In the distance, Cas can see Hannah, beaming with pride and giggling happily from her perch on her uncle Sam's shoulders.

“Yes. Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all have hopes or suggestions for where you hope this goes? I'm intrigued to hear...


	4. Chapter 4

The restaurant shines with sophistication. Every person Cas can see from his chair has that air of worldliness that he himself feels lost around. He tries not to feel overwhelmed by the sights and sounds that surround him, unfamiliar words on the menu and fragances in the air. 

He tries his best not to feel inadequate; that’s not what he’s here for after all. And so far, dinner with Balthazar is more lovely than Castiel could have imagined. 

Balth is the kind of person who orders with confidence for everyone at the table, because he knows what flavors go best with what. He describes food as ‘playful’ and ‘charming’. 

“We’ll have a bottle of chablis, chilled,” he says as soon as they’re seated at the cozy table for two, “a ’92, if you have it.”

Cas can only sit back and be taken along for the journey, and try not to make himself look too foolish along the way. He unfolds his napkin and lays it delicately over his lap, smoothing his fingers nervously over the smooth material.  He can’t remember the last time he’d done something quite like this, if ever. Most of his restaurant experience was in places with paper place mats, or food served in buckets. 

Balth hums to himself as he peruses the menu. As he does, Cas uses the time to take the small details of the room around him. He tries to paint a picture in his head, to etch every candle and every hairstyle into his mind with words, so he can recount this later. At the very least, Annah might be suitable impressed. 

Absently, he hears Balthazar order a few things: some are words Castiel has heard, and quite a few more are ones he has not. As soon as the waiter takes his leave, Balthazar  swivels in his chair and reaches smoothly for his wineglass. He raises it in cheers and Castiel follows his lead. 

“So, tell me, Cas,” Balth starts, lips smacking with the remnants of his first sip of wine, “how are things going?”

The question is vague, inviting. It makes Castiel breathe out a ball of air he hadn’t known he was holding in. The truth is, he can play it down all he wants, but he’s incredibly anxious about this dinner. He wants it to go well, wants Balthazar to think highly of him and of his opinions; he yearns to be considered a valuable member of the staff, not just the inexperienced newcomer. 

There’s a lot riding on this. 

“Things are great,” he responds at last, hoping that the smile he offers isn’t too shaky, “I’m so happy at the _Post_. It’s such a great work environment, a great staff.” _Stop saying great. You’re a writer for gods sake, think of a synonym._  

“No one’s being too mean to you, then? I know grumpy old Zach can be a real fly in your tea…” Balthazar pulls a face and it results in Castiel feeling more at ease. There’s not need for him to be overly professional tonight, to play into the complexities of office politics. Balthazar is down to earth, he can tell. Fancy as all get-out, maybe... but approachable.

Cas relaxes his back against his chair. “Well, that’s certainly not untrue... But I can tell that you stick up for me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

His fingers curl around the edges of the napkin draped over his thighs. “In fact,” he adds, eyes focused on the candle that burns brightly between them, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I was hired in the first place. I’ll have to find someway to thank you for that.”

He leans in toward the table, taking his first delicate sip of wine. _Damn._ Balthazar has good taste. 

“Oh, Castiel,” Balth says, and his voice sounds almost like he can’t believe how silly Cas is being. It makes Cas _feel_ silly, like maybe he’s spoke out of turn. 

The waiter returns then, carrying platters of different sizes on which rest many delicate morsels of food. It takes them out of their discussion, Balthazar turning his attention to ordering dinner (a seared ahi tuna for him, and a duck confit he insists Castiel is going to adore). He orders another bottle of wine, which seems silly since they’ve only just opened this one, but Castiel doesn’t argue. 

He does wonder if he’d ever be able to afford to some here on his own; but he doesn’t argue. 

“You were hired because you’re an amazing writer and you’re a perfect fit for us.”

The praise, despite being the very thing Castiel was hoping for, makes him blush. A deep, deep shade of pink that he attempts to hide by shoving a bite of ceviche into his mouth. Balthazar watches him, a soft chuckle 

Cas is probably making himself look like an idiot. He swallows the uncooked fish quickly and attempts to steer the conversation back to hand. “Should we get to the article now?”

“Article?” Balthazar repeats blankly. 

“You said you wanted to discuss my article… the things I’d brought up in the meeting?”

Balth blinks a few times, his hand hovering over the tapas he’d been just about to grab. His face is expressionless, seemingly totally lost to what Castiel is saying, until after a few long seconds he relaxes, dramatically exclaiming. “Oh yes! Of course. Silly me, getting all carried away like that. You’ll have to stop your eyes from sparkling like that, I’ll keep getting distracted.”

He reaches for the samosa and pops it into his mouth with a carefree air, tossing a wink across the table that thrills Castiel to be on the receiving end of. 

Later, when they’re standing outside in the brisk November air, two bottles of wine deep, Balth in a peacoat and Cas in his ratty old khaki thing, he smiles. “I had a wonderful time Balthazar. Thank you so much for inviting me out.”

His boss turns to him with the charming air that Castiel is beginning to associate with his Balthazar, and his flashes his set of pearly whites. “Of course, Castiel. In fact, I’m feeling quite a sense of _joie de vivre_ right now. Can I convince you to join me for a drink? There’s a swanky little bar near my apartment…”

 _Hm_ , that does sound rather appealing. And it is a possibility. He’s got no babysitter to get back to, no one waiting on him… 

But before he can let himself get too attached to the idea, his phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees the notification for an incoming Face Time call from Dean- which intrigues him, as it isn’t their normal method of communication. 

He looks back to Balthazar with a grimace. “I should really get heading home. This is probably important.”

“Of course, I understand,” Balth nods coolly. He takes a step toward Castiel and whispers in a conspiratorial tone, “I suppose that just means we’ll have to do this again.”

“I’d love that,” Cas tells him honestly, feeling the smile radiating off of him. Tonight had been a taste of a life he’d never gotten to know before. He wouldn’t mind getting a little more used to it, if he had the chance. 

His phone continues to vibrate in his hand. He says thank you once more and allows Balthazar to give him a hug: a long, lingering one that’s more than Castiel would normally find appropriate. _European_ , he chalks it up once more.

The way Balthazar looks at him just as he turns to make his exit… he likes that. There’s something in his eyes that hit at a new level of respect for Cas; a new degree of intimacy, of friendship beyond an employer-employee relationship. 

He’d be intrigued to know how he looks through those eyes. 

As he jogs down the sidewalk in the direction of his car, he lets himself review the evening with the harsh honesty one can only use with themselves in the privacy of their mind. While he wasn’t completely entranced by his thought-provoking discussion with Balthazar, Castiel had felt himself somewhat preoccupied. 

Thoughts and pictures danced in front of his eyes of an alternate him: the Castiel in his late twenties who hadn’t moved away at eighteen to get married, who had stayed focused on his career and had accomplishments to boast of and stamps in his passport. 

It had felt cruel even to think about it, like a betrayal to the life he had now- but when he observed the other patrons in the restaurant, when he stared across the table at Balthazar, all of them ensconced in this ease of elegance… he just wondered if that could have been him. 

Maybe, in another life, he’d be the kind of person who knew wines and years, who had interesting travel stories and was always up on the latest food trends. 

But, he isn’t. And he would never, ever trade the life he’s lived for that one. The one he’s lived is the one that gave him Hannah, and he wouldn’t change a single golden hair on her head, not for all the Chablis in the world. 

By the time he’s settled all this with himself, he’s found his car. The phone in his hand has stopped buzzing, but no worry. He hops inside the car and closes the door behind him, waiting until he feels the aura of privacy settle in around him to dial Dean’s number back.

Cas is slightly on edge as he listens to the electronic ringing of the call. He’s worries that something’s wrong, maybe something happened to Hannah and that’s why he’s calling even thought he knew that Castiel had a work dinner. 

The anxiety peaks when the ringing stops. He expects to hear Dean’s voice (and see his face, he supposes?) and the moment before the video connection is cemented has the hairs of the back of his neck standing up. 

So it comes as nothing less than a relief when he spots a little head sneaking in from the edge of the frame and a high-pitched voice greeting him with a giggle, “Helloooooo, Daddy.”

An instantaneous feeling of joy floods into Castiel. He grips his phone tight in one hand and smiles into the camera. “Well, hello, my little munchkin,” his voice sing-songs, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“It’s not a phone call, it’s Face Time. I can see your face!”

He cannot, however, see hers. Hannah appears not to be able to tell where her own camera is: her little blond head stays fixed in the bottom corner of the screen. It seems as if she’s placed the phone onto a table and is staring down at it. 

“You sure can,” Castiel agrees in his encouraging-yet-suspicious tone, before he cautiously asks, “Does Daddy know that you’re on his phone?”

Hannah has a habit of not understanding which toys are hers and which belong to other people. Cas has always wondered if it might be a symptom of being an only child; sharing wasn’t one of the life lessons she’d had to master just yet. He makes the mistake of letting her play Candy Crush one time and all of a sudden it’s _her_ cell phone...

Her head bounces slightly more into frame as she yells, “Yes! He showed me how to use it. We called grandma!”

Offscreen, deep chuckle sounds. Castiel feels a shy little tickle itching at the back of his throat, and before he can decide what to say, the camera is moving, and suddenly he can see not just Hannah, but Dean beside her. They look ready for bed: her adorable and cozy in her matching pajama set, Dean in a loose red flannel. 

The sight of it feels strangely… familiar to Cas.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean’s voice rumbles through the phone. It fills up the empty space in Castiel’s Prius. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Hannah’ continues to giggle to herself, her hands cupped over her gap-toothed little grin. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, a favorite trait of Castiel’s that she’d doubtlessly picked up from her other dad.   

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Dean says after a moment. “Feel free to hang up, she was just bugging me to call you.”

Castiel is quick to tell him, “No, it’s fine. I’m flattered that she missed me so much. Maybe you might be losing your grip on the Favorite Dad title.”

He says this with a smile and a lightness in his voice- there’s no hint of malice in the words. But it does ring true a bit, whether or not either of them wants to admit to it. Ever since Dean had come back, he’s been the new one, the exciting one. Cas is the one who sits with her to do her homework, and Dean’s the one who takes her out on the weekends for all kids of fun things. 

But Cas doesn’t mind. He’s had her all to himself for a long time now. Still, he can’t say he isn’t pleased to see that she wanted to talk to him so badly tonight. 

He expects Dean to hand the phone back to Hannah then, to let the two of them chat away for a few minutes before she heads to bed. But he holds onto the phone a little longer, sparing a glance down to Hannah before he turns back to Cas and asks, “Your dinner was good?”

“Yeah,” Castiel tells him, “Yeah, it was alright.”

He doesn’t feel the need to mention the delicious food or the fancy wine, how the atmosphere made him feel more grown-up and sophisticated than he ever had in his life; Dean doesn’t need to know any of that. 

And he certainly won’t mention Balthazar. 

Dean’s eyes crinkle, too. “Well, good. I’m glad to hear that. I guess I’ll let you guys…”

“Ooh, Daddy!” Hannah yells out suddenly before Dean can hand over the phone, “Look what I made today with Uncle Sam!” She’s up and on her feet before she’s even finished talking and then she leans up into Dean’s ear and whispers loudly, “Daddy, where did you put it?”

Castiel laughs as he watches the interaction, Dean points off somewhere and tells her where to find whatever it is she’s talking about. She disappears from view then, leaving her two fathers to laugh at the overeagerness that is such a permanent fixture of her personality. 

And then the laughter quiets, and it’s just them. 

Cas thinks that Hannah will pop back up any second, but still he can feel every second tick by. _This is silly_ , he thinks. He can just start a conversation. He’ll ask Dean a question. Maybe something about Sam or his mom, he loves talking about…

“This is kind of funny.”

Castiel blinks rapidly. Because he knows Dean wants him to, he asks, “What is?”

Dean swallows thickly. It’s like he’s… trying to power through this, like he doesn’t want to say it but feels obligated. His eyes return to the screen but they don’t seem to be looking at Castiel. 

“This.. it just reminds me of… y’know. Old times, when we used to Skype. Except now I’m on the other side. It’s me and her calling you.” He scratches at the back of his neck and his lips crack into a half-smile.

A funny feeling comes over Cas as he realizes that Dean’s right, it is just like old times. When he’d prop Hannah up in his lap and call Dean wherever he was in the world, so he’d have a chance to see her face. That must have been the familiar feeling he’d felt when he first took the call. That must have been it. 

It occurs to Castiel a few seconds later that he actually doesn’t know which “old times” Dean is referring to. Does he mean deployment, when Cas was calling as his husband? Or after, when he’d set up the camera for Hannah and then walk away, try to make it without actually having to see Dean’s face, if he could avoid it?

“Daddy, look, I found it!”

Thank God for the constant interruption of children.

“Oh wow, look at that,” Cas tries his best to _ooh_ and _ahh_ with appropriate wonder, but his voice sounds a little strained to his own ears, “it’s a turkey.”

“It’s not just a turkey! It’s also _my hand_.” She shoves the colored paper toward the phone. “Do you see? Do you see, Daddy?”

“Yes, yes, I see, Hannah. It’s beautiful.”

When she pulls the paper back, Dean is gone. Castiel doesn't let himself linger on that, instead spending his time complimenting his daughter on her perfect autumnal color scheme. 

A few minutes later, she interrupts him, in her typical fashion, with her finger twirling adorably around the hair that hung in her face. “Hey, Daddy?”

“Yes, darling?”

And without any further ado, “Can Daddy come to Thanksgiving at our house?”

Cas pauses, almost chokes on air. Does she understand what she's asking here? 

But then... he takes a minute to consider. Maybe she _does_  understand.

Really, it’s not such an awful idea. Not for Hannah’s sake, at least. She could get to have a normal family holiday, with both her dads there. And Dean probably doesn’t have a ton of people to spend the day with, he can bring Sam if he wants. It would be a nice gesture on Castiel's part. A good, solid show that things are okay between them. To Hannah, to their families... to themselves. 

And, of course, Dean does make a mean pecan pie…

A memory floods back into Castiel’s mind of the first Thanksgiving they’d spent together as a married couple. Just the two of them, in that dinky little off-base apartment. Cas had wanted to make it so special for Dean, wanted to make it feel like home. And Dean had been so sweet while he ate Cas’ lumpy mashed potatoes and dry turkey, when he picked off the burnt edges of Cas' sad attempt at a pumpkin pie.  

The thought still sits warmly in his chest when Dean bursts back into view. “Hey, sweetheart, I don’t think Daddy… I mean,” he turns to Castiel, “don’t worry about it, I’m gonna do it here with Sam--”

“No, you should come. Bring Sam. It would be nice to have us all together.” Belatedly, he adds, “I promise I’m not the one cooking.”

Dean does _not_ look convinced. He stares into the camera, a grimace on his face, jaw set on edge. Slowly, the look or horror starts to melt away. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

When would Dean trust him to be able to make up his own mind? 

“I’m certain," Cas tells him, and makes sure to sound like he means it, "If it’s what Hannah wants.” 

“Yaaaaaaaaay!” a small voice shrieks on the other end of the call. 

Dean’s half smile turns whole as he looks into the camera one last time. “Alright. I guess we’ll see you next Thursday. I’ll bring a pie.”

With those words, Castiel knows that his decision is the right one. He can rest easy, now. “I knew you would,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. 

It's a nice air between them for a few seconds there, and Cas feels an enormous sense of satisfaction at the thought of a successful co-parented holiday. He and Dean could right a book on divorced parenthood, really. He wouldn't want to, but they could. 

“Okay, Hannah," Dean is saying now, "say goodnight to Daddy. It’s time for you to hit the hay.”

Cas is sad to hear that, but Dean's right. It's getting awful late for their little girl to be up on a school night.

Hannah relents without a fight. “Goonight, Daddy!” she yells at him.

“Goodnight, princess. I love you.”

“I love you!”

“Can you blow a kiss?” Dean asks her. Hannah puts her palm to her lips and smacks dramatically, making Castiel’s heart light up like nothing else can. He sees Dean’s finger reaching for the screen and then as quick as anything, the call is ended. 

The silence in the car feels amplified now, so different than it had when he'd gotten in the car. The call leaves him feeling happy, in a way he doesn't remember being in a while. It's the same as he felt leaving the restaurant, and it's also different.

He toys with keys in his hands for a few moments and chews his lip thoughtfully. He's got a lot to think about right now. He's not exactly sure what all of it is, but he's got thinking to do.

He places the keys in the ignition and starts the car. Nevermind any of that now. First things first, he's got a Thanksgiving dinner to plan. And he is not looking forward to Gabriel's reaction when he tells him about the change in the guest list.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I didn't realize we were going to be having a family Thanksgiving until Cas did! Sometimes your stories go places that you yourself had no idea. What a wild ride.
> 
> Guess that means I've got a deadline for the next update though, lucky you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, ya big bunch a nerds!

You can say whatever you like about Castiel (please don’t) but if there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s throw a dinner party. And you’d better bet that he passed that trait onto his daughter around the same time she’d learned to walk.

Today, some years since then, Hannah paces around the perimeter of the table, looking thoughtfully at each place setting. She’s wearing the dress she’d specifically picked out for the occasion and sporting the braids she’d woken Cas up at 8 am to demand that he put in for her. She places little name cards that she’s handmade at each plate, smiling as she delicately rests each one in its pre-determind spot. 

Castiel watches her from the kitchen with a small sense of pride. He thinks back to a time when things like this, placemats and nametags, were the only thing that lifted his spirits during long stretches of boredoms in a lonely little town in Texas. First, when he was having trouble adjusting to life as an army spouse, and then again, after things had gotten bad with Dean and he couldn’t make himself be happy anymore. 

“Hey, Cas? Open the oven for me.”

Anna’s voice spurs him from his thoughts. Cas turns around to see her struggling with a casserole in both hands and rushes to her aid. 

“Okay," he narrates his mental checklist aloud as she pushes the oven door shut, "Green bean casserole is in the oven. Stuffing’s in there, mashed potatoes are keeping warm. Turkey’s on the table....”

Anna gives him a look of bored compliance. 

“Where’s the pie?!” Gabriel yells from his spot on the living room couch. Leave it to him to have an eye on dessert at all times.

Cas opens his mouth to answer, but snaps it shut when he is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “There’s your precious pie, Gabe,” he remarks as he strolls down the hall. The brisk autumn breeze gusts as he opens the door. The sun shines bright in the background, and in front of him stand two brothers, wrapped in flannel and leather and each bearing a scrumptious-looking pie. 

Castiel smiles wide at the sight. “Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam.”

Behind him, foot steps clack excitedly down the hall, mounting in excitement as they draw closer. “Uncle Sam! Daddy!” Hannah crashes into Cas’ leg and recovers with a quick spin to show off her outfit. “Do you like my dress?”

“Like it?” Dean repeats in a grunt as he leans down to lift her off the ground, “You’re beautiful! Stunning! Talk of the town.”

She, of course, beams at the attention. Holidays are truly peak adorableness for Hannah. Every one seems to bring some new parlor trick or cute little routine. She turns her gaze on her uncle Sam then, batting her lashes toward him with the practiced elegance of someone who is keenly aware of her own appeal. 

“My God!” Sam feigns shock, “I can’t believe how grown-up you look. You’re a little woman already.”

Cas stands to the side and let them interact as they would, enjoying the sight from afar. Every time he sees Sam or Dean doting on Hannah, it just reminds him how lucky she is, how lucky _he_ is that there are so many people who love making her smile the same way he does. 

Another set of foot steps sounds behind him, startling Cas. He glances over his shoulder to find Anna there, standing in between the hallway and the kitchen, a glass of white wine resting in her hand. Where did that come from? It’s a little early in the day, Cas thinks as he raises his eyebrows as her, but if it’s going to help keep the peace, then  _drink up, sis_. 

Dean lowers Hannah back down to the ground and looks down the hall past Castiel. “Hey, Anna. Happy Thanksgiving.” He’s vaguely ill-at-ease. Cas wants to step in to his aid. 

Anna, to her credit, keeps the malice out of her voice. “Dean,” she nods curtly, and then, “Sam.”

Sam offers a one-handed wave, the awkwardness obviously having bled over from his brother. Cas decides to intervene. “Here, let me take your coats,” he offers, clapping his hands together and stepping forward. 

He takes their jackets from them and leads them into the living room, where Gabriel practically bolts out of his chair to greet them (read: Sam). Sam, graciously, gives him a hug, maybe clapping him a bit harder on the back than necessary. Dean does the same, even looks somewhat pleased to see Gabriel. He may be the only one, but it's still nice. 

At their feet, Hannah dances with elation. 

“You guys watching the game?” Sam asks, gesturing at the television. On the screen presently is the big parade, but it’s wrapping up now, and even Hannah isn’t thrilled to see Snoopy now that her other dad has arrived. 

Dean scolds Sam but his eyes are on Cas. They’re implicitly apologizing. “C’mon, Sammy. We don’t have to watch the game. I’m sure Cas and Gabe and Anna don’t wanna sit through all that.”

From the kitchen, Anna takes a step forward. “Well, Dean, for once you’re not--”

Castiel feels a strong urge to leap across the room and slap a hand over her mouth. Is she being serious right now? Not even five minutes their gusts have been here, and she's already taken to snarky comments. 

Luckily, Gabriel swoops in and wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Ha! You kiddin’ me? I love sports. Can’t get enough of ‘em! The balls, the testosterone? Sign me up, buddy.”

The younger releases a genuine laugh, pleased to have gotten his way. Cas sends a silent- and rare- thanks up to the heavens for his brother's aid, and then he marches into the kitchen while Gabe and the others sink down on to the couch. He makes a point to step inside Anna’s personal space and take her elbow firmly in his grasp. 

“You are going to be nice today,” he warns her. From his tone of voice, it’s clear that she has no other option in the matter. 

This earns him a scoff and a hair flip from Anna, but she doesn’t argue, so Castiel considers it an overall win. She turns her back to him and pretends to go and check on her casserole. 

Cas places his palm over his eyes, sighing quietly to himself. Sometimes he can forget that Anna is so young. He wonders, and worries, just how many people he is going to have to parent today. Hannah seems to be doing just fine on her own. She’s going to be the least of his worries.

Speaking of her, just then Castiel hears a shrieking fit of laughter come from the living room. He peaks his head around the corner just in time her uncle Sam spinning her around and around in circles, and then setting her gently down to the floor.

When her feet touch the ground, she wobbles a little back and forth. Gabriel and Sam are watching on, chuckling a bit at her confusion. At the far end of the coup, Dean looks different from them. He looks... distracted. A little uncomfortable. But when Hannah comes bounding up to him, his expression instantly melts into one of relaxed ease.

“Daddy, daddy,” she pesters him, “can I watch football with you?”

Dean’s eyes light up in a way that Cas hasn’t seen for himself in years. His mouth drops open in a wide smile and he turns to Sam as if gloating. Her reached for their daughter and pulls her up onto his knees. “Hannah, I've never been so proud of you as I am right now."

“Really?” she demands excitedly, glowing with excitement. 

Dean smacks a big kiss onto her cheek. “Really.”

Cas chooses this moment to make his presence known. He strides into the room and grins wide at his guests, eager to play the role of the perfect host. “Can I get you guys something to drink? Beer, wine, tea?”

Dean hesitates, his gaze floating in the general area where Castiel stands. Sam looks to his brother, but doesn’t bother to pause. “I’ll take a beer, Cas. Thanks.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gabriel pipes in, “Beer me, bro.”

Castiel pauses for a second. “Dean?”

He thinks he sees the nervousness that’s plastered on Dean’s face begin to melt away. Dean raises his eyes and looks at Castiel, the edges of his eyes soft and happy. “I’d love a beer. Thanks.”

Cas nods. “Okay. Two beers. Gabe, you can get your own.”

After that, Castiel tries to keep busy in the kitchen. Putting on the last minutes touches, checking everything over, etc. He listens intently to the action in the other room, which mostly consists of fevered cheers from the Winchesters brothers, mimicked after a few seconds by a confused Gabriel. 

When he goes in to announce that it’s time for everyone to take a seat, he finds Hannah and Dean hand-in-hand in the dining room, her leading him on a tour of all the decorations she’d made jus for today. “This one says your name, Daddy, and then Uncle Sam. I get to sit at the end of the table, and the other end is Auntie Anna.”

“Oh, really? You two are the head honchos?”

“Yes. Because girls can run the world.”

Dean nods sagely. “Oh, yes, I think I did hear that once.”  

Cas forces himself to look away. He wishes acutely that it didn’t do such things to him seeing them together like this. It’s natural, of course, probably evolutionary; to feel something stir inside you at the sight of your child interacting with their father. But, still, it would be much easier if he were somehow able to breathe all the time when he looked in on them playing well together. 

Anyways. “Time for dinner,” he announces happily, waving everyone over to the table. They take their assigned seats, with the ladies at the head of the table. Gabe goes around and fills everyone's glasses while Cas moves to start serving.

“Wait!” shouts Hannah, just as her father begins to scoop mashed potatoes onto her plate. Cas’ arm freezes mid-air as all the adults turn to her. “We have to give the thanks.”

She turns her eyes up to Castiel all wide and asking, like this was some pre-agreed upon thing he was supposed to know about. So Cas lays down his spoon and lowers himself back into his chair, as thought he were in on the whole ruse. “Oh, right, I forgot... Everyone needs to say one thing they’re thankful for," he explains to the other adults at the table, as if they needed interpreting, "I’ll start. I’m thankful for my job, which helped us buy this house where we can celebrate with our family. Hannah?”

Hannah bounces in her seat and gives off another one of those _I know I'm so cute_ looks. “I am thankful… that Christmas comes so soon and that my dress is so pretty and that we get to eat pie.”

“That’s my girl,” Dean encourages her from beside her. A light laughter breaks over the table. Even Anna chuckles to herself.

They continue in a circle around the table, first Gabriel, then Anna, then Sam. The themes are familiar: food, family, friendship. When it comes time for Dean to speak, he withdraws into himself. If Cas didn't know better, he might think that Dean was feeling a bit _shy_ about his speech. But that's not like him. Nt at all. 

At last, he speaks, after taking another sly sip from his beer. “I’m thankful that I get to spend the holidays here in person, instead of through a screen.” He pauses and his eyes flick upward: first to Hannah, then Cas. “With all you guys.”

Cas bristles under his gaze. Dean's eyes have migrated over to Sam, the turkey, something on the other side of the table, but still: they way he'd looked at Cas was intense. Too intense. Luckily, Sam steps in with a raised glass. “To family,” he offers, inviting the others to join him. 

All the glasses are raised, albeit Anna’s begrudgingly. Hannah pushes herself onto her knees to try and reach the adult's height.

The glasses clink and everyone sets about settling into the meal. A nice calm chatter arrises, Dean and Sam chatting sports, Hannah and Anna shouting at each other from opposite ends. But, for a few minutes at least, Cas stays quiet. The toast sits strange in Cas stomach. It’s pleasant, and it’s not untrue. They are family, all of them. They always will be. But as he looks across the table at Dean, as he watches all the little ways he is with Hannah, he starts to wonder what kind of family they’ll be in the future.

He decides not to stress it. Not today, at least. Probably, he and Dean have some things to talk over. But that can all wait until after. Today they're celebrating. 

When dinner is finished, when there’s so much food that rests but all six of them are stuffed to the brim, Cas starts to clear the plates. He brings them into the kitchen and dumps them in the sink, turns on the water to let them soak. Beside him, Anna is cracking open another bottle of wine.

“It’s going well, isn’t it?" he asks her. He can't contain the excitement that's leaking into his voice. “I think it’s going well.”

“Oh yeah, it’s great.”

Her voice, by comparison, is flat and she won't look Cas in the eye. 

“What?" he asks innocently, backing away from the sink, "Why do you say it like that?”

Still, she refused to look at him. “No, I’m loving watching you and Dean make googly eyes at each other from across the table.”

Cas scoffs. “It’s not like that, you know,” he assures her, and himself. “There is a difference between teenage fascination and familial love. I care for Dean as a member of my family, blah blah blah.” He's done this speech a hundred times by now, he doesn't have to repeat all the finer points again. 

He turns away from her and continues on, with a hint of a curl at the edge of his lips. He's his best trying to sound casual but suspects it's none too much a success. “I’m excited. If this goes well, maybe we can keep doing it. Not for Christmas- but Easter, maybe, fourth of July…”

The way Anna turns on him suddenly shocks Castiel. “Yeah, Cas, that’s all well and great, but what happens when one of you brings someone else to the party?”

Cas purses him lips and frowns at her. 

“You’re not going to stay single forever," she snaps. She extracts the cork from her wine bottle with a loud pop and slams it onto the counter. "Neither is Dean. How are you going to feel when he brings a new boyfriend to Thanksgiving? A husband? Another kid?”

The idea cuts so deep that its makes Castiel feel like he can’t breathe- why does it do that? But, of course, he can't show this to his sister. Cas doesn't know what to do with his face. It must look something like a paralyzed mask of horror, that's what it feels like. He struggles to keep his muscles smoothed and in check. All the while Anna watching him with that air of haughty judgement.

“You need to get your shit together,” she says dismissively at last. “I’m going to go drink on the porch.” And with that, she takes the bottle by the neck and turns her back to him, exiting the kitchen without waiting for himself to defend himself. 

He wants to say something snarky, a comback that’ll really make her think. “It’s cold outside,” is what comes out lamely, instead. Damn it. 

That was... That was just... well, entirely uncalled for, to say the least. Here he just cooked this whole dinner, arranged a lovely holiday meal for everyone, and she has to go throwing a tantrum for no good reason. 

Cas knows Anna. He knows that she can be negative, always coming in with the pessimistic opinion, even- especially- when no one's asked for it. It frustrates Castiel to no end. 

He places both hands on the kitchen counter and sinks down onto them. "Ugh," he grunts, to no one but himself. He listens to the sound of the clocking counting out the seconds, letting the moments go by as he stays there, head in hand, reflecting on his flaccid anger. 

And why did she have to say that about Dean? It's not as if Castiel doesn't know these things for himself, he's not blind to the world outside his immediate little bubble. She just always has to go sticking her nose in things that are none of her business; she doesn't trust him to be able to make his own decisions--

“Knock, knock.”

Cas looks up. Speak of the devil. Dean is standing in the entryway, leaning in to the kitchen. He looks hesitant. “I don’t know why I did that. That was dumb.” He shakes it off and then returns to Castiel. “You need any help in here?”

Dean takes a few steps toward him. Castiel reacts by pressing himself further into the countertop, inching back into his own space. 

“No, sorry, I just got caught up thinking….” His voice is quiet. Is he embarrassed? He doesn't mean to be. “Just Anna said something. It’s nothing.”

“Ah.”

Something in that _ah_ rings familiar. A faded memory pings in the back of Castiel's mind, though he can't place where it is.

“Well, if you’d take any advice," Dean offers with a raised set of brows, "I’d say don’t listen to her. I just mean, you know her. She's young and... feisty. Always got something to bring you down.”

Castiel ponders that. He wonders if, as a brother, he should be offended at Dean's description. He might well be, if it weren't so apt. “I… thank you, Dean. I appreciate that.”

Dean shrugs it off like it was nothing. “No problem. So… is it time for pie now?”

Castiel is pleased to hear his own laughter. He takes a pecan pie in his hands and holds it out to Dean. “If you want pie, then it’s time.”

Dean smile is soft and plesant when he accepts the pan. He laughs a little, too. “Thanks ba--”

He stops suddenly. It takes a moment for Castiel to realize what’s happening, and just as he does, Dean bursts out, “--buddy. Thanks, buddy.” And then he’s turned on his heels and scurried out before before Castiel has the opportunity to properly react. 

That was an undeniable _babe_. Certainly. 

Which, yes, could be easily excused away, with the old times and the memories and the beers everyone's drunk today- but Cas is tired of making excuses. Especially with what Anna's just put into his mind. 

Could that have meant something? Does Cas want it to?

"Daddy! It's time for pie!"

With a heavy sigh, he takes that thought and deposits it into his back pocket. If it is worth ruminating over, now's not the time. Now, it's time for pie. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyyyyyy (: (:

“You can be a real jerk sometimes.” Cas tightens his fingers around his cell phone. He moves from the living room into the kitchen and sighs dramatically into the receiver. He’d wanted to call her a bitch, but just to be a little extra harsh, but he didn’t normally use such strong language- especially in regards to his sister- and it felt false even before his lips could form the word. 

“Cas,” admonishes Anna from the other end of the line, “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was going to get called in today. If I didn’t have to take the shift, I wouldn’t.”

His eyes drop to the table, on which he’d set up all the things he’d got to prepare for the evening: limes, lemons, a pre-made mixer and a large bottle of tequila, all laid next to a selection of take-out menus for local thai places.

It’s not even a particularly stirring evening, which highlights exactly how lame it is that he had been so excited for it. 

“Now I have to drink all this margarita mix by myself,” he huffs, “Does anything scream _sad divorcé_ to you quite like a man drinking an entire bottle’s worth of margaritas by himself on a Friday night?” 

He could already see himself, half drunk, crying looking at his wedding album and pictures of Hannah as a baby. It’s a old trick by now, one he’s performed more times than he’d like to admit.

He has no desire to repeat it again tonight. 

“We can do it next week,” Anna supplies, “I promise.”

“You _promised_ tonight.” 

This was supposed to serve as something of an apology for her behavior at the Thanksgiving dinner a few weeks ago. They were now past Christmas, of course, but things had been so busy between work and Hannah and everything else, he hadn’t gotten to have much one-on-one time with his sister since she’d essentially told him off on Thanksgiving. 

It was just left hanging there, festering, so that when Castiel did finally see her at Christmas, things were stilted. He didn’t want that. There were enough complications present in his life without a sibling dispute. Not to mention that if he and Anna weren't on speaking terms, then he was left with just Gabriel, and.... well, it was just better for everyone if they made up. 

And while Anna stood by her appraisal of her former brother-in-law and she felt no need to apologize for her iciness to him, she would admit that it wasn’t exactly fair to Hannah or Cas, and in order to mend fences she had suggested a sibling bonding night. Which she was now bailing on, after Cas had gone and gotten all excited for it. 

In Cas' ear, Anna sighs once more, the sound of a final caving in. “My boss is calling for me, I have to go. Try not to get too depressed without me, okay?”

Cas humphs. “Oh, don’t waste your time worrying about me. I’ll just be writing up personal ads for a new sister.”

Only a mild scoffs comes over the line in response. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be a stereotype, you are awfully dramatic.” 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Anna just hums once in a sing-song way and hangs up, leaving Cas grumbling as he puts away his own cellphone. He sinks down into a chair beside the kitchen table and sighs. 

He shouldn’t be surprised that Anna’s cancelled, and maybe he isn’t; but he is disappointed. He’d really been looking forward to tonight. Hannah’s off at a sleepover at a friend’s house, which is lovely and great, and he’s happy that she’s having fun… but it’s not the same as when she’s just at Dean’s. As silly as it might be, he worries. 

Does she have everything she needs? Will she sleep alright? Is everyone being nice to her?

He could have used the distraction of having Anna here. And, now that she’s cancelled on him, it’s not as if he has any other friends he can call on- and hanging out with Gabriel seems like entirely too much energy right now.

No, it looks as if he’ll be flying solo tonight... Nothing new there. 

He spares a glance out the window that sits above the kitchen sink. Outside, the sky is grey and ominous. A cracking thunderstorm threatens on the horizon. 

If nothing else, that helps to improve Castiel’s outlook on the evening. There’s nothing he loves more than a good storm, especially when he can watch the rain falling from the  warmth and safety of his extremely cosy couch.  If he’s got to weather through a Friday night alone, he’d glad to do it on a day like today. 

His fingers flicks across the rough paper of a take-out menu. The loud sound of the clock ticking on the wall hums throughout the kitchen. Castiel chews on his lower lip.

He decides to go ahead and mix up the first batch of margaritas. Is it a little early? Yes, but he’s got the house to himself. He can stand to indulge a little, for once. Call it a happy hour. 

Drink in hand, he settles into the living room. Maybe he’ll pick out a movie to watch. He’s got a few good documentaries in his Netflix queue that he’s been meaning to get to. No better time than the present, especially since whenever Hannah is around there’s a strict Disney-movie-only rule (enforced by her, of course). 

Actually, this might not be so bad, after all. Cas could use a little time to himself. Being a working parent is exhausting, and a single parent at that. 

Take, for example, the giant mess that Hannah’s made in front of the television for example. Cas groans as he gets up, moving to clean up the pile of DVDs she’s left scattered all over the floor for no good reason. What, had she been searching for a movie to bring to the sleepover? It wouldn’t have killed to her just tidy up a bit after herself…

He sorts through the pile, eyes rolling as he does. Most of these are things she hasn’t watched since she was 3, he doesn’t even know what was in here that she might have been hunting for. One by one, he places them back into their designated spot, until suddenly his fingers stop. 

The bottom of the pile isn’t manufactured DVDs in plastic boxes with ponies on them. Here, at the bottom of the pile and the recesses of Castiel’s mind, is where all their old home movies live. 

He turns away and searches for his margarita glass. He gulps down a big sip and then returns to the discs. 

He doesn’t remember putting this away after the move. Had he? Maybe Anna had done it for him. In any case, he feels like he hasn’t lain eyes on any of these in years….

His fingers run over the cheap, plastic casings, each one marked with thick black sharpie in his own hand… _Hannah’s 2nd B-day… Christmas 2013… Our New House (: …_ ❤ _Our Wedding_ ❤ _…_

The sound of rain beginning to fall outside registers in the peripheral of his attention. At once, he feels a lot of things looking at the DVDs, and also feels strangely numb. A part of him wonders what happened to the happy young man who took videos of his family and marked the recordings with hearts and smiles. A part of him misses that younger version of himself, misses him in the low-key kind of way one feels for an old friend who's moved away, whom you've resigned yourself to never seeing again. 

Another sip of his drink, and a glance at the clock. It’s barely five. He could… 

Oh, but that’s not a good idea. This is exactly the kind of sad, shameful behavior he had been trying to avoid this evening. 

Cas sits back on his heels for a second and allows himself to ponder. 

He _could_ , just for curiosity’s sake, watch just a little clip, just of one video, to see how it makes him feel. After all, he’d love to see Hannah as a baby again. He misses when she was so small, just a little ball that he could hold in one hand, and squish her up and kiss her fat little cheeks. 

He grabs a Christmas disc and moves to pop it into the player. Clearly, he doesn’t take much convincing. But at least it’s just him in the house. He might as well take advantage of one of his rare nights alone to fully indulge himself. 

An hour later, and he’s halfway into a second disc, this one of Hannah’s first birthday party. 

If he didn’t remember the day so vividly for himself, he would be certain that he is watching someone else’s life. That’s what it feels like. Looking at himself, so very young with a baby on his arm. So many times Dean springs up from behind him, surprises him with a kiss. Who are these kids? What happened to them?

The truth is that Cas still hasn’t quite processed their Thanksgiving incident. He hasn’t let himself. 

Because, of course, he loves seeing his daughter and her other father together. It makes him feel warm and gooey inside just to think about it. 

But, it’s all just too complicated. He’s only just starting to truly come to terms with their split and the new arrangement. Those wounds are just starting to heal. What, is he supposed to go throwing a wrench into all that? Confess to his ex husband that he might maybe _have a crush_ on him? 

Absolutely not. Not in the least because that would all only serve to confuse Hannah, who is paramount above all in this situation. No, Cas can learn to wait this out. Surely this feelings will fade. It’s just an old reflex, surging up because Dean is back in his life for the first time in years. 

He forces himself to press pause on the television and return to the kitchen. Time for drink number two- he needs it. While the blender mixes up the cocktail, he flips through the menus on top of the table. He should probably order something soon, better to get some food in him before the liquor starts to take effect.

Castiel groans internally at the thought of ordering delivery for one. Yet another cliché- God, this is so awful. But he doesn’t want the delivery person to give him that pitying look, asking shrewd with his eyes him why Cas is all alone on a Friday night, half drunk and ordering too many noodles. 

He knows exactly how much of a mess his life is, he doesn’t need to be reminded by some seventeen-year-old on a bike with helmet hair. 

Just as he’s sighing once more and placing the menus back on the table, a knock sounds at the front door. 

Castiel frowns. That’s bizarre. Maybe Anna had gotten off after all? He pushes a button on the blender and the house goes silent once more, only the sound of falling rain outside to fill the room. He marches down the hallway toward the front door, giving himself a good patting down before he opens the door.

Upon opening the door, though, he’s hit with a wave of utter confusion. “Dean?” he questions, brows furrowed, “What are you doing here?”

The rain is really coming down behind him, and Dean is trying to duck his way out of it. He gives Castiel a queer look, but then nods towards the foyer. Cas steps aside to let him in. 

As he closes the door from the rain, he turns once more to Dean, who’s attention is primarily focused on his leather jacket. He glances down at it, wiping half-heartedly at the sleeves. Castiel watches him in silence, unsure what else there is to do. 

For a few seconds, Dean doesn’t say anything, and Castiel is left just to wonder what might have prompted a spontaneous visit from him. Is this… is this related to the B-word Incident? Castiel makes a conscious effort to maintain a neutral expression, even while  his mind is already quickly rushing into panic mode. 

At last, Dean looks up at him, and his face looks no different than any other given afternoon. 

“I’m... here for Hannah?” he says finally, no less confused than he had been when he first appeared, “You know, our kid? About yea high, blonde hair, pretty feisty spirit, loves a Barbie?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “Oh no.” Dean cocks an eyebrow and he instantly feels his cheeks burning up. Why is that happening? Maybe he should hold off on that second drink. “She’s got that sleepover at her friend Meg’s house tonight. I’m sorry, I should have called and reminded you.”

A look of realization comes over Dean’s face, making his emerald eyes go even wider than normal. _Stop noticing things like that_ , Cas chides himself, while Dean is shaking his head disparagingly.  

“Man, now I feel like a dope,” he says and clicks his tongue. He pulls on the bottom of his jacket. “Well, I’m sorry to bother you then. I’ll just...”

He trails off and turns to go out the door once more. A crack of thunder rumbles in the distance, and Dean’s hand pauses on its way to the door handle. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Cas hears the words come out of his own mouth. “No, wait.”

Dean stops in his tracks, turns around to look at Castiel with a silent raise of the eyebrows. 

His confidence is already waning, so it takes Cas a second before he can find the gall to ask, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

Something strange happens to Dean then. He looks momentarily like he’d been shocked, physically shocked. It’s gone as fast as it had come and then he says, “No, nothing. Probably just gonna go home and watch Netflix or something.”

Here goes nothing. “Why don’t you stay?”

Dean tries to cover up his surprise, but doesn’t do very well. Castiel can’t blame him. He himself wasn’t exactly expecting the make the offer, but, well here they were.

“Yeah?”

Castiel looks back to the kitchen and then to Dean. “Yeah. Anna was supposed to come over for dinner and drinks, but she bailed on me last minute.” He holds back saying, _if you stay I won’t have to be embarrassed in front of the delivery boy_. “I’ve got all this alcohol and it doesn’t seem a great idea to drink it myself…”

Before he can even finish, Dean’s shrugging off the jacket and started to hang it up on the coat rack. “Well, you’ve sold me.”

Cas laughs in a relaxed way, though he doesn’t know why. “Follow me into the kitchen, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Cas pulls down another glass and splits the batch of margarita he’s just made between the two of them. Dean purses his lips, impressed. After taking a sip and declaring the drink suitably delicious, Cas grins and tosses a finger in the direction of the menus on the table. “I was thinking thai. Does that work for you?”

Dean sinks down into a chair like it's the most natural thing in the world and throws him a suspicious look. “Margaritas and thai food? Mixing cuisines a little there, aren’t you?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Anna said that if I picked where we ate, she could pick the drinks. I tried to fight for mojitos…”

Dean interrupts him with a snort, “You would.”

The comment prickles something in Castiel. He straightens his back and reaches for a thin pamphlet covered in delectable-looking cartoons of ramen bowls and dumplings. Even while he's chatting with Dean, keeping an air of perfect nonchalance, inside his thoughts are a continuous circle of _what am I doing what we are doing what is this?_

He's perfectly aware of the boundaries that are in place between himself and Dean, and why they are there. He reminds himself that while a more relaxed, casual friendship with Dean would be an ideal situation, he needs to remember himself. And Hannah. He needs to remember her, most of all.  “Anyway, you will eat it or no?”

“Yeah, yeah," Dean waves him away, far more focused on his beverage, "whatever you want is fine.”

Castiel pats his pockets lightly, searching for his phone. “You still eat the basil fried rice with chicken?”

Dean freezes with his drink next to his mouth. When a few seconds go by without answer, Cas jerks his head up to look at Dean. A tiny, barely detectable smile frames his mouth. He answers in a soft voice, “Yeah. Still the same.”

While Cas calls up Noodle Express and places the order for delivery, Dean gets up and wanders into the living room. Cas watches as he does, trying to read any hint of discomfort in his movement, and finding none. That's one thing about Dean that always leaves Cas marveling: he doesn't waste time on awkwardness. If he feels out of place, he finds a way to make himself fit in.

Castiel wishes he could say the same about himself. 

It’s only after Cas ends the call that he recalls what he’d left paused on the TV in the living room, and he bolts from the kitchen muttering a soft “shit” as he does. He finds Dean standing next to the large screen, taking it in with a curious expression. He sips from his drink but doesn’t look up when Cas enters the room. 

“This isn’t weird,” Castiel insists as he reaches for the remote and switches the channel on the television. “I was just--”

“No, I get it. No worries.”

Cas stares blankly at him. 

“You were drinking alone, so you pulled out the baby albums. I do the same thing all the time.”

“You do?”

Dean shrugs. “Sure. I miss her being little. I miss her little face and her little fingers, and when she used to babble nonsense all day long.”

“Oh my god, I miss it so much.” Cas feels delighted to be able to talk about it out loud. He doesn't have anyone else who knows the feeling in his life: sure, Gabe and Anna love their niece, but it's not the same. They don't understand what it's like to be a parent. 

Dean nods to the screen once again. “We can keep watching it, if you want.”

That’s a nice suggestion, but Cas can see it going down a bad road very quickly. After all, it’s not just Hannah on those tapes: it’s also him and Dean. Young and in love. 

He hedges for a few seconds. “No, that’s okay. I think I’m ready to switch over to a real movie.”

Dean nods. Castiel bends down to retrieve the remote control and nods for Dean to take a seat on the couch. He, of course, sets himself as far away as he can. 

“What were you thinking of watching?” Dean asks after a moment. 

“Actually, I had a few documentaries on my list…”

The grimace on Dean's face is undeniable. There's a lot of way he’s changed in the past few years, Cas is sure. But it doesn't seem as if one of those way is a sudden total reversal of his opinion on documentary films. ( _"Cas, it's a movie,"_ he'd said once,  _"If I wanted to be bored for two hours, I'd read a book, or call my brother"._ )

“Don’t worry," Castiel tells him with a light-hearted chuckle before Dean can slide further into distress about the subject, "I wouldn’t do that to you. Here, you pick.” He hands the remote to Dean, a gesture which is met with a glance that could at best be called skeptical. 

“You trust me?” Dean questions. 

“It’s only fair. I picked dinner, Anna picked the drinks…” At the mention of which, Castiel remembers he's left his margarita in the kitchen. He gets up to retrieve it, leaving Dean in full control of their viewing options. From the kitchen, he surveils carefully as Dean scrolls through the different categories. Truthfully, he and Dean had never much agreed when it came to films or TV show tastes... it meant that, when they were dating and married, they essentially watched the same few things over and over. Cas had never minded much. 

He was surprised to see Dean skip right past the Action category, that was normally his cup of tea. But then again, he would of course remember that Castiel can barely tolerate all of those long, drawn out action scenes. All that violence, it always made him anxious. Instead, he goes for a section labeled Classics. 

Cas steps back into the room, drink in hand, and tries to keep his eyes from wandering too much. He places his drink gently on the table in front of him and returns to his place at the far edge of the sofa. "You've decided?"

Dean answers in a nod. He, Cas notices momentarily, has already gone and gotten himself quite comfortable on Cas' couch: shoes off, knees tucked up beside him. Castiel's eyes drop to his off-white socks, not particularly dirty but none too clean either, and then back up to where he's gesturing to the selection that he's made. 

"Back to the Future?"

Dean leans back again the couch cushions. "Yeah. I haven't watched it in a while, figured it was a safe bet. Could do something else if you're not in the mood though."

Of course it's a safe bet. This was practically their go-to when they were together. This was one of the movies they had their first real make out session too. They'd watched it in bed dozens of times together when Hannah was little. 

Is Dean being deliberate in his choice? Or is he genuinely just trying to pick something they'll both like?

Cas doesn't know, but he wants to believe the latter, so he does. "No, that sounds great. Here, give me your glass. I'll get us refills."

About a half an hour into the movie, just about the time when Marty blasts back into the past, Castiel's phone lights up on the table in front of them. He chooses to ignore it in favor of the movie. But then another two notifications roll in in quick succession and Cas reaches down with a grunt. 

When he sees the texts from Balthazar, he suppresses a groan. Well, not very well. He half-suppresses it, and half lets it come out as a strange squeak. It makes Dean look over at him with concerned eyes. "Something up?" he asks, looking between Castiel and the TV screen.

Castiel decides not to respond to Balth's many questions right now. It's nothing too pressing, and besides, it's Friday night. He is allowed to take a little time off to sit back and relax with his... ex-husband. 

And anyway, Balthazar has in all honesty become a little over bearing lately. Ever since their first dinner outside of the office a few months ago, he's started to take Castiel under his wing and preen him. Which is lovely and everything, that he so clearly wants to see Castiel succeed, but... well it's just meant that he's always seeking out Castiel's opinion and calling him to tell him different stories that can be rather long-winded (and, to be honest, a little self-centered). Plus he wants to go out every weekend to try some exciting new gin bar or something, and it's all just becoming too much for Castiel.

But it's not as if he can say any of this to Balthazar. So instead he just switches his phone into silent mode and slides it underneath a pillow where he can forget about it until the morning. 

Dean's attention is still somewhat trained on him, so Castiel quickly tells him. "It's nothing." And even though he's sure Dean doesn't care, he finds himself adding, "Well, it's just my editor. He's always hounding me to go out to all these weird places on the weekends with him..." he trails off, listening to how pointless his explanation is. 

“Oh.”

The response is soft, guarded, and it makes Castiel look up suddenly. “What?”

Dean changes his position and suddenly he won't meet Castiel's eye. “No, it’s… it’s just a little weird.” Cas gives him a look, begging him to continue. Dean does, though he sounds increasingly uncomfortable. “Talking about a guy you’re seeing, or whatever.”

Castiel practically spits up his drink. “Oh god! Believe me, it’s not like that. Balthazar is… no, we're very different people. And in any case, he’s my editor. I’d never engage in a relationship with my boss.”

Cas isn't incredibly eager to discuss his dating life with his ex, but he's glad to see the way that Dean relaxes at this new information. Surely, he isn't too keen on the topic either. Friends can discuss love lives, but maybe not just yet. Castiel makes a point not to think about what Anna had said to him in the kitchen after Thanksgiving dinner. Not the time.

Now, though, Dean’s eyes go sly. A sneaky curl presents itself at the corner of his lips. “Wasn’t I your boss once?” 

Castiel is not going to indulge that question. “You were my boss for a summer at Camp Broken Arrow, and we were sixteen.”

“ _You_ were sixteen," Dean contests proudly, " _I_ was seventeen.”

“Well, either way, I didn’t sleep with you when you were my boss.”

“No, you didn’t." Dean's eyes soften, and the smirk that had been present melts off. His voice lowers just so and he regards Cas with something that he doesn't quite know how to place. "You were a good boy.”

There’s something vaguely flirtatious about the way Dean’s said it. Maybe it’s because he’s on his third margarita, but Castiel’s doesn’t mind. Friends can flirt. There’s no rule saying they can’t. 

It’s getting a little harder to be so stringent about those boundaries. He doesn't say anything in return, but lets the feeling linger in the air, a warmth between them that just seems to spread throughout the room, leaving a smile on Cas’ face that he has a hard time wiping off. 

The food arrives and Cas gets to retrieve it, flagrantly shooting down Dean's attempt to hand him a crisp twenty dollar bill for his part. When he stands, he's a little woozy on his feet, but manages to fish out his wallet and pay the (seventeen year old, helmet-hair, but thankfully nonjudgmental) delivery boy what he's owed. Cas freshens their drinks while Dean sets up the food on the coffee table in the living room.

In the midst of this incredibly normal activity, Cas is struck with another prickly sensation. It's just... so domestic, the whole thing. He should be more uncomfortable, he thinks. This shouldn't be so easy.

He peaks through the doorframe to the living room, where Dean s sitting patiently waiting for Castiel to rejoin him. Cas sighs contentedly at the sight. Maybe it shouldn't be easy, but he's taking a page from Dean's book. He's going to make it easy.

This really could all just be that simple. 

They settle into the meal and back into the movie. Dean uses a fork instead of chopsticks, because if he weren't eating rice, he would still be useless. Cas watches him intermittently, with a slightly bemused enjoyment on his face. It's a direct parallel to the smooth, practiced confidence with which he'd seen Balthazar use a pair of chopsticks when he took Cas out for dim sum after work last week. 

For a second, Castiel tries to imagine Dean and Balthazar even in the same room together. Even just the thought makes him laugh. Dean wouldn't be able to stand Balth for more than two minutes, and Balthazar would probably stare down his nose at Dean the whole time. Yes, Castiel will never make the mistake of inviting those two to the same party. 

The scallion pancakes that Cas had ordered are shared between them, though he leaves the last one for Dean to have. Dean accepts it without shame and Cas wonders how he managed to forget the way Dean can really scarf down food when he wants to. 

Castiel doesn’t feel himself drifting off to sleep, just a supreme comfort over taking his body. He stretches his legs long over the couch and moans. He feels more at ease than he has in a long time. He supposes he has the tequila to thank for that. 

He hears a rustling beside him and sees that Dean is standing up. He’s cleared the dishes from the table and is reaching for a blanket that hangs on the couch. 

“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m taking off. Thanks for everything.”

“No,” Castiel whines, grabbing Dean by the arm and tugging him, “Don’t go. Stay.”

He must be drunk. He opens his eyes and feels unfocused. Dean’s face is so close to his, Cas can still see the bright green of his irises even though the lights are off in the house. 

Everything is still. Dark. Something creaks in another part of the house, and the final drizzling of the rain storm is tapering off outside. 

It’s unclear who’s to blame. It doesn’t feel so much like one of them leans in, or the other. More like a gravitational pull that has them moving closer and closer until finally Dean’s head falls just enough that their lips touch, and then it’s a go.

The second Cas gets a taste of Dean, it’s like slipping on an old glove. It’s good and it’s right and familiar and he wants more, so much more, and he pulls Dean fully down onto him so that he crashes onto the couch. 

Dean pulls away for a second, shakes his head and seems to try and catch his breathe, but Cas doesn’t have time to that. He grabs Dean’s face and pulls him back down, whining loudly into his mouth and thrusting his hips up to meet Dean’s. 

“Fuck,” Dean curses, voice low and gruff and everything Cas needs right now. “Fuck.”

Cas doesn’t remember his pants being unbuttoned, but suddenly they’re shoved down around his knees and he can only think to himself what a great idea that is. Dean’s lips move over his jaw, sucking and biting while Castiel scratches his fingers through Dean’s hair. He keeps moaning over and over, he thinks he’s saying Dean’s name but he’s not sure. The physical sensations are so perfect that his brain is turned to mush. It's like his brain is filled with air and he might think he was dreaming if not for how fucking good those teeth felt on his neck or the way his dick was hard and wanting in a way it hadn't been in years. 

When he feels a finger slide inside of him, the world around him narrows down to a pinhead. His fingers grip tight around the fabric of Dean’s shirt, tighter than they should be but Dean only bites off more encouraging dirty words and god damn how does he still have so many muscles under there? Cas feels a momentary itch to run his tongue over those muscles, the taut feel of his flexed bicep--

And then it’s Dean. All of Dean, every inch, filling him up. The weight of it feels so perfect inside him, like not a day has passed. Like a part of him that's been missing for so long has finally returned home, Castiel bites down on his lip to keep from screaming, but then Dean lips are on his again and it's Dean who's doing the biting and shit that's even better. 

After that, Castiel loses all control. The words leaving his mouth now are a stream of gibberish, a mixture of moans and begs, and when he can remember he tries to lift his hips to allow a more perfect angle. Dean's breath is hot and heavy in his ear. Why did they ever stop doing this? What a waste of so many years, the stupidest thing Cas can even think of...

All too quickly, he feels himself coming to a peak. He says something along these lines out loud to Dean, who coaxes his with sweet words and gentle strokes, telling him "I've got you" over and over. 

Afterward, he lies there, soaking in the pleasure. He likes the feeling of being messy from his own come. It feels dirty, which is another thing he hasn't let himself enjoy in too long. His body is loose and the weight of Dean’s body on top of him is so strangely comforting. Dean continues to thrust into him, his own movements and words becoming more stuttered. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and lifts his hips. 

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes out, searching for Dean’s lips once more. “Oh, please. Yes. Oh, please, Dean. Oh.”

What he’s pleading for he has no idea, he’s just letting the words flow out as they pop into his brain. But the results comes soon. Just a few minutes later, Dean curls his fingers around Cas’s shoulder and increases his speed. 

The second after he’s spilled his load, Dean’s head falls next to Castiel’s cheek. His breath comes out in hot puffs, panting like he’s just run a marathon. His cock pulses inside Castiel, which makes Cas smile contentedly. 

“Shit. Fuck. I love you." The words are clear as day in Cas' ear, coming out between gasps of breath and making Cas feel warm all over. "I love you so fucking much.”

He pulls out and Castiel rolls over, still wearing a smile on his face. With the weight of Dean on top of him and the warmth of the tequila in his belly, he closes his eyes and curls up, falling easily into an undisturbed peace.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for some b-b-b-backstory.

The first thing Cas does is the morning is roll his hips into the mattress. He feels both stiff and newly relaxed, which is a strange combination, but he actually doesn’t mind it. He burrows his face into the pillow and moans at the welcome ache of his creaky bones. 

Come to think of it, he doesn’t actually remember getting into bed last night. He would have thought he’d have passed out on the c--

Fuck. 

Cas flips over in a panic as he’s suddenly smacked with the remembrance of the evening before. It's not a clear picture, mostly a mess of words and feelings, but he knows what he did. He knows.  

What the hell had he been thinking? How could he have possibly allowed himself to make such a gigantic fucking mistake?  

He’s terrified to look over and find Dean laying beside him. Fuck, he hopes he left. He hopes that Dean woke up with the same thud of regret thumping in his heart, and he grabbed his clothes and peeled out of there before Cas could realize, and now Castiel would go to check his phone and there would be a message there saying that _we were both drunk_ and _old habits die hard_ and that they could both agree to erase this from their collective memory until the end of time.

Castiel pulls in a deep breath and glances beside him. The other side of the bed is empty. Only a broken stream of sunlight coming in from Cas’ half-closed curtain rests on the beige sheets. It might as well be the hand of God reaching down to grace Castiel with a blessing.

He rolls over again and lets his eyes fall closed. _God. Damnit._

Dean must have carried him into bed. _Carried_ him. That couldn’t be anything good. That’s so sweet and intimate, and using words like those right now is making Castiel’s stomach curdle like it’s full to the brim with three-week old milk.

A noise from outside the bedroom stirs Castiel's attention elsewhere and forces a tightness into his chest. It's a clattering coming from the kitchen. The distinct sound of someone making themselves all too at home. Castiel leaps to his feet and pulls on the first pair of pants he sees and stalks into the hallway to better ascertain the situation. 

He doesn’t try to hide himself. No, he stands clearly visible in the entrance way to the kitchen, stiff and awkward and certain that the displeasure he feels is radiating off of his face. 

Dean is sauntering around in the kitchen like he’s never been more at home anywhere else. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It irks Castiel to see it. Where does he get off being so sure of himself while Castiel is toiling with self-hatred at the moment? 

Reckless always had been a word Cas would use to describe Dean. He was the type do blaze ahead with whatever he wanted to do, and only after did he have to worry about the consequences. It was the kind of thinking that had lead to their divorce. And now it’s gone and gotten them into yet another mess. 

Castiel balls his hands into fists. The annoyance he feels is offset by the smile on Dean’s face and the knowledge that Dean has no idea the harm he’s doing.

Dean looks over his shoulder at last, and catches sight of Castiel. His eyes glaze over with joy, and the casualness in the “Morning” he greets Castiel with is incredibly shallow. He’s practically glowing. 

Cas says nothing in return. He moves his hand to the moulding that separates hallway from kitchen. His stomach situation has somehow turned worse. He feels sick and also like the worst person in existence. His throat is contracted, unable to make even a single sound. 

If Dean notices, he carries on without giving any indication. He’s pouring batter from a metal bowl onto a buttered pan. Only now does Cas notice the smell of pancakes wafting through the house, and feels his otherwise-ill tummy pique with interest. 

“I thought about digging around in your cabinets, trying to find a heart-shaped cookie cutter,” Dean continues, back still turned to Castiel, posture relaxed and loose, “but then I figured, probably a little cheesy.”

“Dean.”

It comes out so much weaker that Castiel wants it to. Weak enough that Dean can ignore it, or take it as some sort of playful admonishment instead of what it is. 

“I know, I know, it's too much. Little rude to go rifling through your shit, too."

This time it’s a little stronger. “Dean.”

Strong enough that it gets to turn around, a spatula in one hand, mouth still half-cocked into an early morning smile. When he takes in Castiel’s expression, his own face goes grim in a flash, and it’s only seconds later that he steps forward and says in a pleading voice, “Cas, no.”

Okay. This is it. The hardest part is out of the way. All Castiel has to do now is stick to his convictions. 

“I think you should go,” he says in a soft voice, eyes falling away from Dean's face. It's too painful to watch the way the hope dies in his eyes. Cas might be frustrated and annoyed, he might be a lot of things, but he isn't cruel. 

Dean inches closer, raising his hands as if he were approaching a dangerous animal. He's trying, really trying, but Castiel can already see the defeat settling in his features.

“Don’t do this.” 

There’s nothing else to do, Castiel thinks. They aren’t teenagers anymore. They don’t have the freedom to mess around like this without any repercussions. Once was already too much, they have to sweep this under the rug and forget it ever happened, before it’s too late. 

Cas opens his mouth, but can’t bring himself to say anything else. Even though he’s filled on some levels with varying degrees of anger, he can see the hurt on Dean’s face and it brings back all kinds of memories, and it has him clamming up. 

Dean continues to approach cautiously. He's trying to keep some measure on control in his voice as he says, “Cas, I know you’re scared but you don’t have to--”

“Scared?" The word cuts through his train of thought and delivers an irritated shock to Castiel's system. "I’m not scared of anything."

"Okay..." Dean amends, staying exactly where he is, "Nervous, then."

"No, Dean, I'm not nervous, either. I’m being logical. We were drunk, we made a mistake. Let’s just forget this and- and keep going like we were.”

They can do that. They can still make their relationship work, can still try to be the best dads they can be to their daughter. If they can just put aside their selfish needs and think about--

“I don’t think it was a mistake.” He presents the statement on its own, like it’s a whole fact rather than a sadly misguided opinion. “I don’t think it was at all. Cas, don't tell me you can't see. This is the best possible option.”

Castiel blinks a few times, trying to process Dean's complete and utter refusal of the truth. “No," he manages to say at last. "No, no, no, no, no." He pushes himself off of the wall but keeps a safe distance from his ex. "Dean, I don’t think either of us are in a place where we can talk about this right now. I think you should go back to your place and think about it--"

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jesus, had Dean always been the stubborn? It's like arguing with a child. He's huffing and puffing, waving that spatula around, totally unaware of how ridiculous he looks. “I don’t want to scrutinize every single fucking detail about this. I want to fucking kiss you and I want to come home and I want us to be a family again.”

Cas stares blankly across the kitchen. He's willing Dean to come to his senses. Though, he knows all too well from experience that it'll be a long wait if that's his end goal. “It’s not that easy.”

Dean turns around and clicks the stove off in a loud, fluid motion. He whips his head back around to Castiel, eyes filled with fresh pleading, though it's tampered now by frustration. He's starting to lose his cool, a little bit. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s that easy. We were together, and then we weren’t, and now we are again. Boom.”

Yet again, he oversimplifies. 

Castiel shakes away the frustration. “And what about Hannah? Have your spared a thought for her in all this?"

When Dean exhales a shaky breath of air, the muscles of his chest flex and tighten. Castiel makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Dean's, doesn't allow them to move anywhere else. He can't afford that kind of distraction right now. 

“Of course I’m thinking about her," Dean answers, his voice gone soft again. "I’m thinking about how much she’d fucking love having two dads living in the same house. I’m thinking about how much easier that would make her life.”

Two hands go to Castiel's hair and tug at the root. “I’m not gonna throw her life into a wind turbine just because you and I kissed when we were drunk.”

That seems to be the moment something clicks for Dean. Castiel is not going to change his mind about this. He's not going to be persuaded or won. His face and body crumble by measures and he has to lean against the stove for support. Cas doesn't particularly want to keep going, but he feels that he'd better make sure this is closed up tight with a lock and key. That Dean truly understands his motivations. “We made a decision, Dean. Three years ago, we made a decision, and now we have to live with the consequences.”

For a moment, life seems to spring back into Dean. He stands to his feet and points a finger at Castiel, strongly declaring, “That’s not fair, Cas. I didn’t choose this.”

Cas knows what he means. Or at least, what he thinks he means. It almost, almost, makes him pity Dean more than anything else in that moment. 

He stares at Dean, feeling the fight melting slowly out of him. He goes soft but holds his gaze steady. “Yes, you did," he tells a shocked Dean. "You might not think you did, but this isn't a one way street. You left us way before we left you.”

There's no response to that. Whether Dean has ever considered that before, Castiel doesn't know. He doubts it. Highly doubts it. 

Every second that ticks by feels like an hour, and Cas is only growing more uncomfortable. He just wants this to be finished. Wants to be done with the act of breaking Dean's heart so they can just move ahead to the process of rebuilding. It shouldn't be that hard. Not like last time. 

Castiel coughs into his hand. “Dean, you have to go pick up Hannah."

Dean looks up at the words. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are turned down at the corners. There's something beautiful in his brokenness and for a tiny fraction of a second, Castiel thinks about taking it all back. 

“I want you to go," he says instead, with all the conviction he can muster, to show the both of them that he really means it. 

It’s awkward and strained as Dean goes into the bedroom to collect his things, obviously huffing and puffing but ultimately doing as he’s asked. Castiel stands in the kitchen, a million thoughts rattling around in his head that he needs to push off until he's alone and has the space and time to properly think things over. He focus his attention on pretending not to be as uncomfortable as he is. When Dean goes at last to the front door- fully dressed in his clothes from last night, looking almost as if nothing at all had happened- he turns around one more time with a forlorn expression on his face. 

"You know, this is all gonna look a lot different tomorrow.” 

It won’t, Castiel is certain. Even Dean’s voice creaks with a certain uncertainty. But Castiel doesn’t say anything. He turns his back to Dean and walks away, waiting until he hears the close of the door before he exhales the most gigantic breath. 

Cas doesn't know if breathing is easier or more difficult now that Dean is gone. 

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck_. 

He feels a frustration that there are no other words that come to mind. A thick ball of emotion clogs his throat, no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He might scream and he might cry and he definitely doesn't want to talk to anybody for at least two days. 

The monumentality of it all is coming over him in waves. Even looking at it objectively, this is quite possibly the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his life. And it is going to have ramifications, of that he feels dreadfully sure. For him, for Dean, for Hannah. 

And the most frustrating part is that Dean somehow can’t see that. He’s got these rose-colored glasses on, looking at the world like all you need is love, and it’s... stupid. It makes Castiel seems like the villain, like he's just got some stick up his ass and a vendetta against love, whereas Dean is the romantic foolhardy hero who's convinced that everything could work out just perfectly if only Castiel allow himself to feel. 

Cas feels a stab of anger thinking about it and he looks down to see his hands are balled into tight fists. 

This is part of the reason they broke up in the first place, he remembers with a burst of clarity. Dean loves to go and make these big gestures without consulting anyone, and then Cas is standing in the wake. He cleans up Dean's messes, he takes care of everything that comes after. It's always up to him to keep a level head. Castiel has always hated that; hated the way that Dean takes away his choice in the matter. 

It would be nice if for once, he could be the one who threw caution to the wind. If he could get to be a little fun, a little spontaneous. 

Annoyance builds in him. He scratches a hand absently at his arm and approaches the stove, where Dean’s pancakes sit in a neat little stack on a plate beside the pan. Castiel stares at them for several seconds. He’s hungry, but the thought of eating what was meant to be a romantic breakfast for two makes him want to puke. 

He picks up the plate and throws the pancakes into the trash. He finds it strangely refreshing. Another one, half-cooked, sits in the pan on top of the stove. Castiel throws that one out, too, and tosses the pan into the sink so that it clatters loud enough to rattle his nerves. 

Yes, Dean just does whatever he wants and expects everyone else to be happy with the results. Did he ask Castiel if he might want pancakes? No, of course not. 

It makes Castiel think back to the day when he was seventeen, when Dean barged into his parents' house without warning and told Cas he’d signed up for the Army.

He’d just gone and done it. He hadn’t asked about Castiel’s opinion in any of it, even though they'd been dating long enough for his opinion to matter. 

And Castiel couldn’t be mad. He knew that Dean’s parents were tight on money, knew that he was never going to have the opportunity to go to college or do any of the things that were a given for Castiel. Not unless he did something dramatic.

And it was this great, brave thing he was doing- or at least that's what everyone told Cas. They were all so proud of Dean: his brother, their friends, even Dean's dad, who was fairly stingy with his declarations of affection, Cas had seen. So he couldn't hold it against Dean that the thing he was doing to save himself was breaking Castiel's heart. 

But it was hard for him to see anything good about the situation. He was seventeen, and he just wanted to be able to spend his days with the boy he was so madly in love with. For him, all the Army did was keep them apart, and threaten to throw Dean into harm's way at any given moment. And for that, he hated the Army. He hated it, hated it, hated it. 

When Dean was gone, Cas fell into a depression like he'd never experience before in his life. Typically, he was a pretty happy-go-lucky kid, his general outlook a pretty positive one. He tried so hard to enjoy his senior year of high school with the friends he knew he wouldn't get to see much of once they'd all left for college. But it wasn't easy for him. Every minute, every thing he did, he was wishing that Dean could be there to share it with him. He would have traded anything to have his boyfriend by his side. He would have worked two or three extra jobs to give him the money he needed, if that was an option.

He spent the whole year Dean was away at basic training fighting with himself, wishing that he could be the kind of person who was good and supportive and filled only with pride for his boyfriend's sacrifice. He wanted to be. So badly, did he want to be. 

Thinking back on it now, he can remember the way his heart throbbed in pain. He could feel it even vaguely if he let himself. That's not the kind of hurt that someone could forget so easily. 

Castiel goes to the sink for a glass of water. He hasn’t let himself think about these things for a long time, probably because of that fact that it still hurts. He would rather pretend that he never felt anything at all, that would make all of this so much easier. Feeling Dean's hand on him last night, waking up to him smiling in Castiel's kitchen. It's confusing, to say the least. It's bringing back things Castiel has long since buried in a dark corner of the attic of his mind. 

It's better that he remembers. He needs to remind himself of all the hurt and the anger he felt towards Dean, the things he never got to say aloud because he felt too guilty or he wasn't allowed to. 

In this moment, he likes it. In this moment, it's making it so much easier to send Dean away. 

Even though he hated the military for driving a metal spike through their relationship, Castiel stayed true. While Dean was away in Texas, he wrote letters almost every day and waited impatiently for phone calls. The few times he got to hear Dean's voice on the other end of a crackly phone call, it was like he felt a surge of love greater than any he'd ever known. And when Dean recounted all the things he'd done- pranks they'd pulled, weapons he's fired, early-morning physical training sessions- Castiel loved listening to the shine of pride in his voice. 

But still... 

Every day it got harder and harder to be away from Dean. His life was ticking by totally normal, except with the gaping Dean-sized hole that nothing else could fill. He was forced to go through big days- Christmas, prom, graduation, birthdays- having Dean by his side for none of them. 

And he was never allowed to talk about it. His friends didn’t understand, they were quickly bored of his harping on about the same old story. And of course he couldn't say anything about it to Dean. Every once in a while, he'd let s little hint of his sadness slip in, a little extra tear in his 'I miss you'. But Dean felt so guilty whenever every time. Cas learned just to swallow it down, to keep it to himself so that he was the only now who knew how deep his sadness went. 

When Dean came home to visit, in the summer after Cas graduated, he tried so hard to keep a smile on his face the whole. He laughed and held Dean’s hand and tried to pretend that he was okay sharing him with everyone else, even though all he really wanted was to keep Dean holed up in his room for the whole two weeks and not let him see the light of day. 

He had to say, the feeling of incredible joy he felt getting to be around Dean again for the first time in so long almost made him feel like the separation was worth it. He treasured every day, every kiss, every late night drive about a thousand times as much as he would have the years before. 

But he knew it wouldn't last. As the days past, he started to feel Dean slipping away again. An anxious feeling started to creep into everything they did together. Castiel knew he was faltering, but he didn't want Dean to see it.

A few days before their time together was over, Cas couldn't take it anymore. They were out on a drive, listening to one of Dean's cassettes inside his beloved Chevy Impala, when he just broke down crying. He admitted it all: all the nights he'd spent crying, alone in his room. All the days he'd felt more isolated than he could ever have imagined. The letters he'd written to san but never sent in which he confessed to a certain resentment towards the thing that was taking Dean away from him.

He wasn't sure what he expected from Dean. In any case, Dean pulled over the car and coaxed Castiel into his arms, gently petting his hair and showering him with kisses. He shushed Castiel's cries and held him tight. He stayed strong while Castiel was falling apart, and for that Castiel felt another upheaval of guilt inside him. He tried to apologize, for which Dean argued with him, but Castiel pushed the point. He said that there was no reason for him to burden Dean with all this, especially when there was nothing that they could do to resolve it. 

So Dean proposed. Just like that. “You can come live with me,” he said, a funny little smile cutting through the seriousness of the moment, “we can get an apartment and you can go to school down there, and we can go to bed together every night.”

It was wild. It bordered on crazy, since they were so young and Castiel already had plans to attend college near home and their parents would probably want to murder them. 

In that moment, nothing could have cured Castiel like Dean's words. He sniffled and smiled and pulled Dean close, and they celebrated right there in the front seat of the Impala. 

And then they got married. And even though their place was kind of crummy, and the journalism program down there wasn’t nearly as good as the one Cas originally planned on attending, he didn’t care. He was so unbelievably happy because at the end of every day, Dean came home and gave him a kiss and they ate dinner together and slept in the same bed. Nothing could have been better. No fancy school or spacious mansion could have made him happier. 

Then, of course, things changed. Not at all once. Slowly, over a span of time. Dean started being sent off on training missions, first just for a few days at a time, and then for periods that stretched and stretched. And Castiel was left alone. In a way that was worse now, because alone in Texas wasn't the same as alone in Illinois. He had no family there, besides Dean, no friends. No one to talk to.

So he found himself again passing most of his hours alone, isolated from the rest of the world- only now he was wondering why he’d bothered to come all the way here just to end up feeling the exact same way. Before, it had been missing Dean with every fiber of his being that had been the defining emotion on his world. Now, it was missing everyone else in smaller ways that added up to a giant hole in his heart. 

Dean was distressed seeing his new husband like this, Cas could tell. They talked about it at length. Dean suggested maybe Castiel should go back home, to stay with his parents for a little bit. But Castiel couldn’t do that, didn't _want_ to do that. He’d already started classes, and he wanted at least to try to make an effort at having a life down there. 

He also didn’t want to leave Dean. Their marriage was so fresh, he’d only just started to be a husband. He wanted to give it a real try before he went running back home with his tail between his legs. 

So, together, they decided on their best course of action: to have a baby. Then Cas would have someone to keep him company when Dean was off for long periods at work, something to keep him busy.  And Castiel loved the idea. He sometimes stood in front of the mirror and rubbed a hand over his belly, thought about it being big and round, housing a little baby that was half him and half Dean. 

They set about trying every time Dean was home. They tried and tried and tried, and you can definitely bet that that’s the period Cas looks back on most fondly when he thinks of their marriage. Even now, conflicted as he is, he can’t suppress a light chuckle at the thought of all those long nights and weekends spent in bed, excitedly talking about baby names and the idea of being a family. 

The day he found out that he was pregnant still holds the top spot at the happiest of Cas’ life. He took three tests, just to be sure, and when Dean got home he wrapped Castiel up in the tightest hug ever imaginable. After that, it felt like there was no way that everything would turn out just right. 

Every day when he came home, Dean would get down on his knees and talk to Cas’ tummy. He told Cas that he got more beautiful every day, always offered to run out and buy any little thing he wanted or needed. 

And then Dean got deployed. 

Right in the middle of the pregnancy. It was Castiel's worse nightmare come to life. Dean being halfway across the world while Cas was sat at home with nothing to do but think and worry. Nights he stayed up late at his computer, his eyes gone dry from staring at the screen, torturing himself reading up on horror stories of the things that went on during war. Weeks went by between phone calls, letters almost never came. Cas was growing bigger and bigger, and so was the feeling of dread that he carried around with him, thinking only ever of Dean. 

He didn’t even get to come home for Hannah’s birth. He missed it by weeks. By the time he got there, Cas had already been struggling through fatherhood on his own for so many long days. He'd already spent most nights crying out of loneliness and fear. 

Yes, this was exactly why they’d planned for the baby. But it was so much different in reality than in theory. In his mind, Cas had seen himself and his daughter, laughing, playing, going on walks. Instead he just felt overwhelmed. He loved her so much more than he had ever imagined, but all she did was cry. And he was left all alone to take care of her.  

He doubted himself as a father. Sometimes he felt like he was doing an amazing job, and others it just seemed like his best efforts weren't enough. He needed Dean there to reassure him, to tell him that he was doing just fine. That there feelings were normal.

But Dean was gone. And even though it wasn't technically his fault, Castiel grew to resent him for it. It may not have been his choice to leave, to go to a far-off corner of the planet at the exact time Cas needed him most, but in some ways it was. He had chosen to join the Army, knowing what that meant. He had chosen to leave Cas. 

When Dean came home, at long last, things had shifted. Castiel was happy to see him, but their dynamic had changed in ways neither of them could voice. Dean was quiet now. He would get angry more easily, which wasn’t something Castiel was used to seeing, and something he didn’t like being around his new baby. Though Dean did love Hannah, adored her was more like it, and Castiel did love to watch them together, even though it piqued something inside him and reminded him that Dean had been gone for so much of her first year. 

They withdrew from each other. Dean had problems that Castiel couldn’t understand.

But still, it wasn’t enough to make Castiel think that they wouldn’t make it through. Sometimes they shared a laugh or a look, and it warmed Castiel on the inside, felt like they were right back to their old ways. And the sex, those rare times when they did tumble into the sheets together, was still as good as ever. They might have had their problems, Lord knows they did, but sex between them was never anything but perfectly mind-blowing, as far as Castiel was concerned. 

Hope started to glimmer in Castiel’s eye when Hannah was around two years old. That was when the end of Dean’s military contract was well within sight. 

It felt like a breath of air fresh after too long spent underwater. Like the light at the end of the tunnel. He went back to imaging their every day lives with a pleasant hum, just like he had before they were married. 

They could move back home. They could get a little house in Pontiac, with more windows than their sad little off-base apartment, and enough room to talk about maybe having another baby. Cas talked to Hannah about the endless opportunities all day long; and of course she understood none of it, but it made him happy to tell her anyway. And it made him happy that he felt happy. It had been much too long since he'd been acquainted with the feeling. 

Then Dean ruined it all. He came home one day and said that he’d volunteered to deploy again, that he had opted to extend his contract by another year. 

All without even bothering to think for a second what it might do to Castiel. To their marriage. To their family.

Sitting in his bed with his knees tucked up to his chest, the sheets still rumpled from where he and Dean had slept last night, Cas feels empty all over again. The idea of letting Dean in to hurt him all over makes him feel weak, and he doesn’t like feeling that way. It's taken him so long to get to where he is now, the confidence and the level of enjoyment he takes in leading his every day life. He's not gambling with that. 

It makes Castiel more sure than ever before that he’s done the right thing in making Dean leave. Last night, he messed up, but it’s not too late to fix it. 

They’ll be growing pains, for a bit, but that’s how it has to be. Dean’s gotten over this once before, he can do it again. He doesn’t have another choice. 

So of course the next few weeks of Hannah exchanges are awkward after that. In fact, for the first few Fridays and Sundays, it’s Sam who shows up to the door in Dean’s place. 

That’s fine with Castiel. He understands that Dean’s hurting. He needs time and space to come to term with the fact that he and Cas are really, truly not going to happen again.  Castiel is more than willing to give that to him. Better that tun Hannah see something pass between them and start asking questions. No, that would be no good at all.

And when Sam smiles and makes fun of Dean to Cas, says he doesn’t know what’s got him so busy that he can’t swing by to pick up his own kid, Cas just shrugs and goes along. He pretends that he hasn’t the slightest clue why might be keeping Dean away. 

Nights are a little longer and a little colder after that Friday night. Cas finds himself missing the feeling of having someone to share his bed. He wonders when he'll ever get to know that again. 

It takes a good while, but finally Castiel starts to feel like things are going back to normal. He and Dean have managed to have a few civil encounters by now. The road to repair is beginning to lay down its bricks, Cas thinks. Maybe by summer Dean will be able to stand him long enough to come over for a meal again. Maybe.

When Balthazar invites him out to some kind of “fusion” restaurant on a Friday night several weeks later, Castiel is refreshingly enticed by the idea. He’s got to get back in the swing of things- hell, even try some new things. 

If he keeps going as he is now, he’s never going to progress, move on. And if he can’t go back to his past, what else is there? 

He doesn’t want to be stuck in some weird thing with Dean for the next twenty years. And even though it makes him feel rather sick to envision them leading totally separate lives, he knows that in the end that’s the best possible outcome. 

So he hopes that maybe he’ll meet someone. Not tonight, necessarily. Not in this particular Korean place they’re going to. But someone. Someday. 

Balthazar suggests coming over to Castiel’s for drinks before they go to the restaurant, in the way he has of suggesting that doesn’t invite too much dissent. Cas is not enthused by the idea of Balth coming into his house; it's cozy and small-town, filled with projects Hannah's made and pictures of his parents and siblings. Balthazar, he's sure, will take one look at it and think it provincial. 

Cas has been to his boss' place. It's all white and sharp angles and minimalism at it's finest. His liquor cabinet is stocked only with European alcohols that Cas had to pretend he'd tasted before. Cas' tiny little home will not impress him. But, he's the boss and Castiel has to go along with all of his wild ideas, no matter how that makes him feel. 

"Oh, well, look at this," Balthazar hums in a monotone as he paces in the living at Castiel's, "another drawing. Of a rainbow."

Cas swings back into the living room from the hallway, pulling a jacket over his shoulder. He quirks a wry smile at Balthazar. "Are you ready?"

Balthazar holds up and finger and grabs his glass of wine, tossing it back in one smooth gulp. On anyone else it would look thoroughly classless, but somehow he pulls it off with grace. Cas laughs watching him and jingles his keys in his pocket. Balth gives him a nod and they toward the door.

"I have to tell you, I'm rather excited to check this place out," Balthazar tells him as they walking out the front door. "They supposedly do some things with kimchi that you just wouldn't believe."

Cas nods easily, giving nothing away about his kimchi preferences. As they step outside onto the porch, he welcomes the cool brush of February air against his cheek. He's sliding his key into the lock when he hears something that surprises him. "Oh, Daddy!"

He whips around, eyebrows furrowed in the deepest possible way they could be. "Hannah?" he asks, confused, and then feeling a sudden panic when he looks up to see his daughter behind him on the porch, with Dean standing beside her. Which, of course he would be, she didn't come over here alone. But he's sporting a look on his face that seems like there could be steam coming out his ears, and his eyes are darting between Castiel and Balthazar. 

Castiel's back straightens. Of course, he can see what this looks like. He and another man, laughing casually; Cas obviously dressed in one of his better ensembles. 

"What are you doing here?" he addresses the question to Hannah, but still his voice shakes a little. 

It's Dean who answers. "She forgot her bunny rabbit," he replies, words cut short with sharp edges. "I thought we could swing by to pick it up. Didn't realize we'd be interrupting something."

What does he say to that? He's _not_ interrupting anything, but to correct him could give the wrong impression. It's not Dean's business if Castiel is dating, no matter how much that may hurt to hear. 

"Oh, we can let her in for a sec," Balthazar cuts in while Cas is still ruminating in his thoughts. He speaks with confidence, as if this were his house, which only makes Castiel more uncomfortable. "We've got some time before we have to get to the restaurant."

"Thanks so much," Dean spits out. His eyes are narrowed and avoiding Castiel. "You're too kind. C'mon, Han, let's grab bunny and get out of here."

Cas stands impotently in the doorway, letting the two of him pass by. The anger is literally radiating off of Dean's body in waves. Balthazar doesn't appear to notice at all, and Castiel looks at him wondering if it's possible that he's so absorbed in himself that he has trouble registering the basic emotions of other people. It's not a flattering thought, but

He hears Hannah's foot steps bouncing down the hall and feels relieved to be near the end of this horribly awkward interaction. When they pass by again on the way out, Dean whispers to him without looking, "Have a _great_ time."

The heat in the air, both from his breath and the words they carried, makes a quiver run down Cas' spine, a wholly unpleasant sensation. Hannah yells, "Bye, Daddy!" at him and before he can think to respond they're already back in Dean's car and pulling away. 

He watches as the Impala cruises down the road into the distance. Beside him, Balthazar regards him without any concern. "Well, Cassie? Lock'er up, let's hit the road."

Castiel hears a jingling sound and looks down to realize that he's shaking the keys nervously in in his hand. He gives a quick jerk to his head and turns around to lock the door once more. "Yes. I'm ready. Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a nice month-long break we all took. I myself was very busy between holidays and seeing family and then traveling around for a bit. I'm sorry it took my a while to get back to work, but here we are now, eh? Happy reading, my faithful followers.

“Daddy?”

“Have you finished your homework, Hannah?” Cas doesn’t bother to indulge her inquisitiveness today. He’s being short with her because he’s stressed and he feels sick to his stomach, and every two minutes she pops back up with a new question instead of finishing the damn math sheet that’s been sitting in front of her for half an hour. 

“No.”

Of course not. He pulls the lid off of a pot and stabs a fork into it’s contents. “I’m trying to cook dinner.”

But Hannah is not to be deterred. Stubborn little thing that she is, she just sidles up next to the stove and bats her eyelashes at her father. “Can Daddy come eat dinner with us sometime? Maybe on Friday?”

Dear God does Castiel’s heart just about jump into his throat at that question. 

“Hannah, this isn't a good week.”

“Well," she pulls up on to her tiptoes, "When will be a good week?”

“I don’t know!” he finally snaps, “Can you please sit down and finish your homework?”

Hannah leans over to the side to see what’s on the stove behind him and then looks up at his with shrewd eyes. “I don’t want to eat carrots.”

“Great, then I assume you don’t want to eat dessert either.”

That does the trick. She skulks her way back over to the table and slumps into her seat, running her pencil over the paper but writing nothing. Cas sighs a deep breath. Things have just been hard lately. It’s normal, this time of year: cold weather keeps them cooped up inside and she gets restless, and it wears Castiel out faster than normal which typically tends to drive him into his yearly bout with the common cold, though it seems to be kicking his ass a little more than usual this year.

It’s frustrating to feel himself losing his temper with Hannah. Of course it’s bound to happen, she’s seven after all and there’s nothing she loves more than pushing boundaries, but he wishes he didn’t snap at her so much. His nerves grow shorter and shorter the more tired he becomes, and it’s probably this time of year most of all that he reflects on single parenthood. 

The situation with Dean had gone from boiling over to a soft simmer. The week after the incident with Balthazar, Castiel had had Gabe drop Hannah off at Dean's that Friday, a move that mad him feel embarrassed but just seemed easier than facing Dean with all that anger Cas had seen in his face. Respectful, even, of Dean and his feelings. 

But he couldn't avoid him forever, obviously. That Sunday, Cas bit the bullet and went to Dean's place to collect Hannah himself. He was surprised to find a much more relaxed Dean. He was controlled, that was clear-- holding back. But he kept his cool in front of Hannah and he treated Cas with civility, and if that's what he was offering then Cas would take it. 

They've spoken few words between them since then and every smile is forced, but Hannah doesn't seem to have any clue what's going on, and that's the important thing. 

Since that night, he’s spent a lot of long nights thinking about what Dean had said the morning after… they woke up together. He thinks about how scared he was seeing Dean standing in his kitchen, and the way the light died in his eyes when Castiel told him to leave. 

There’s just nothing to be done about the situation. What, should they just give it another go? Throw all caution to the wind? That's an insane idea, and a naive one to even posit. 

The risk is just too big. What if they broke up again? He couldn’t even begin to understand the psychological ramifications that would have on Hannah. And it couldn’t be good for either of them either. 

He’s still allowed to be sad about it, though. Some nights, for reasons he does not understand, he relives what he can remember of that last night with Dean. On the couch, the way his muscles moved under Castiel’s grip, the way it felt to have him inside one more time. It always leaves Cas hard and aching and has him coming into his fist while he pulls a pillow over his mouth to keep himself quiet. 

He doesn’t know why he tortures himself like this. He chalks it up to some crazy chemical in his brain and tells himself that he’ll stop soon enough. 

Recently, Cas has been wondering if it would help to talk about it. He’d been so dying to get these plaguing thoughts out that he nearly let it slip to Gabe last weekend at their parents’ anniversary dinner. Thank God, he’d somehow managed to keep that mess managed.  

So who else could he discuss these feelings with? Dean? Fat chance of that. Their relationship is more tenuous than it’s ever been, and if they have any hope of regaining the equilibrium they’d had before the Couch Incident, Castiel is going to have to walk on egg shells for the next decade, minimum. 

“Hannah!” he calls, interrupting his own thoughts, “Time to eat!”

She only groans at his words and pushes the homework out from in front of her. She watches with disdain as he slides a plate in front of her and places a healthy amount of carrots on it. He dumps a few vegetables on his plate as well, but he knows he'll barely manage to pick at them. 

In fact, he hasn’t felt this sick in a long while. If the situation were different, he might have asked Dean if he could take Hannah from school tomorrow so that he could relax a bit after work. As it stands now though, he’s not going to be asking for any favors from Dean for a long time. 

He lifts his head and stares across the table at Hannah. She’s sitting with her head resting on her hand, dejectedly leering at the carrots that rest on her plate. The rest of her food is gone, of course. 

“Hey,” he proposes, trying to add a little cheer into his voice, “do you want to watch a movie with me after dinner?”

Hannah regards her father with a mix of skepticism and hope. “But… it’s a school night.”

“Yeah, well... Every once in a while is okay."

She perks up significantly at the idea. “Can we watch it in your bed?”

“Yes. Definitely.” And then, just to make sure he didn’t complete forget his role as a parent, he points his fork toward her plate and adds, “that is, if you eat all your carrots.”

Afterward, when they're snuggled up together under the covers, Castiel feels worlds better. Tired and nauseous, but at least he’s comforted by having Hannah there lying next to him, her little body half covering his. 

Sometimes, when they lay together they like- and they don’t do it often now that she’s getting bigger, but when they do- he wonders how he could possibly be supposed to want anything else. He can't imagine fitting anyone else into his bed, let alone into his heart. No, things can stay just as they are, like this, thank you very much. 

Hannah had tried to pick some insufferable animated film involving an anthropomorphized band of jungle birds which Castiel literally, pardon the expression, could not stomach. Luckily, he'd managed to steer her a bit more towards his own tastes, if not completely within their bounds. So now, they're watching _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs_ , which he accepts with begrudging silence.  

Out of nowhere, halfway through the film, Hannah perks up and asks him, “Daddy, when I was in your belly, what did you eat?”

Cas purses his lips and brushes a strand of hair out of her face to look at her more properly. Where on earth does she think of these things from? “Well,” he answers, “I think I ate mostly the same things, if I remember. Maybe a little more ice cream than normal.”

“And did you eat a lot of popcorn?” She holds up a handful as an example. 

“Hm, yes, I think I did a good amount of popped corn.” 

For a minute, she pauses, and Castiel is left with brows furrowed, wondering. And then, in the most natural tone, she continues, “Because I really love pop corn. Maybe that’s why.”

It's a very silly hypothesis, but Cas doesn't laugh. Instead, he leans down and plops a big, fat kiss on her plump cheek. “You are so smart. Do I ever tell you that?”

“Sometimes," she answers with a shrug. Her attention has already been stolen once more by the flickering lights of the television screen. 

He runs a hand absently over his stomach, smiling as he remembers the sensation of being pregnant. He had absolutely loved it, loved the feeling of growing a little human in there. And even though he enjoys every day getting to watch her grow and change into this inquisitive new person all her on, he can admit that he sometimes misses the newness of it all. Even with the hardships he was going through then, even with all the time Dean was away, Cas still counts his pregnancy as one of the happiest times in his life.  

He turns over onto his back, attention drifting away from animated meteorological disasters, and allows himself to get lost in the nostalgia. He strokes his fingers over the light material of his t-shirt, feeling the taught skin of his belly underneath. A pang of nausea creeps up on him of out nowhere, and the familiarness of the feeling strikes him. 

Suddenly, he sits up with such a shock that even Hannah turns over and innocently asks, “What happened?”

Plenty of thoughts are rushing through his mind. Yet just a single word is flashing in front of his eyes, bright and neon and gigantic in size. He attempts to calm his heart down a bit. He licks his lips and comes to his senses, forcing himself to lie back down and keep his breath steady.  

“Nothing…" he murmurs, "nothing. Sorry.”

The next morning, he waits until he’s brought Hannah to school.  He texts Balthazar to tell him that he’ll be late for work, which gets him no response. Typical. He could actually wait until the end of the day, or even still use his lunch break-- but he’d rather get this out of the way. If he’s just freaking out, he doesn’t want to waste the whole day over nothing. 

He remembers feeling this way before. When he was a teenager, when everything was still new and anxious and his future unsure. 

Somehow now it feels even more menacing. Which, he supposes it is. There's more at stake here, now. But he tells himself to calm down. There’s no reason to panic yet. 

So, upon leaving Hannah’s school, he goes to the drugstore just around the corner. He wanders the aisles, scanning each shelf with fervent eyes, putting on his best, most casual airs. The pharmacist gives him a funny look when he approaches the cash register to pay- or else that’s just his imagination. Cas can’t really be sure. 

Then he heads back home immediately. He locks the door behind him and places his bag delicately down on the table. He takes in a deep breath and then exhales, repeating the process enough times that he feels he's wasted too much time being ridiculous. 

And then he takes out the tests. All four of them. 

They’re going to turn out negative, he reassures himself. It was one slip up, one time. There’s no way that could stick. Right? It had taken them weeks, months the first time around, and that was when they were actively trying. This information relieves Cas as he heads into the bathroom with four petite boxes in hand. 

But… he is willing to admit to a small, teeny tiny fraction of himself that will be disappointed when he sees those little minus signs. Even if it’s been less than a day that he’s even had the idea in his head, it’s just reminded him how much he loved pregnancy. How nice it would be to have another little baby…

But now’s not the time. Castiel knows that well enough. He has no time to take care of a new child, no partner to help with the load. And he's only just starting out in his career, he can't stop now. Wasn't that his whole plan when he moved back home from Texas? To take some time to focus on himself, all the things he never got to do.

He’s still young. Not even thirty years old. He has time to meet someone and fall in love, get married and _then_ , when he's ready, he can think about having another baby. Do things the old fashioned way. Again. 

Anyways, better get to it. He decides to take all four tests at once, just to get it all done with, he supposes. Looking at his hands, he’s not quite sure why he’s bought four different tests. It's an absurd number, one surely would do the trick. But it had just seemed like the kind of thing people in movies do when they’re in a moment like this. At least he’ll be sure.

So he pees. And he waits. The test say they will take five minutes, so Castiel waits ten just to be certain. He goes into the kitchen and pretends to distract himself with cleaning odds and ends, though of course his mind is elsewhere. He just wants to see that tiny little symbol for himself, the one that will let him off the hook and let him get back to his mess of a life without any long-lasting repercussions. 

The second the clock ticks onto the eleventh minute, he does an odd slow jog into the bathroom to check on his pee sticks. His eyes move slowly down the line, inspecting one after the other after the other. Then he stands to his feet and regards his reflection, his heart fully stopped inside his chest. 

He’s pregnant.

 

 

After several unreasonably long moments, his brain starts back up and he can feel some semblances of firing between his synapses. 

Okay, okay. He’s pregnant. 

He'd known it was a possibility. That's why he's here, isn't it? In the bathroom, four little plus marks staring back at him gravely. But... he'd never actually put any stock in it. It had been a funny little anxiety dream, something he just had to confirm wasn't true so he could sleep easy at night. 

And now, it's real. It's a fact. It's something he's certain of- that is, four drug-store pregnancy tests worth of certainty.

His first instinct is to panic, but there's some sort of override trigger that stops him short. Panic isn't something he has the luxury to do. Panic is a self-indulgent action; he has to keep a level head, to figure out the best course of action for his family. 

His growing family, apparently. 

Deep breaths. No reason to lose his mind.

He can handle this. He’s done it once before, hasn’t he?

Except that nothing in human history feels further away from him than his last pregnancy. He remembers this exact moment, eight years ago, with a very different reaction. He remembers the glowing feeling inside when he saw that plus sign, the way he waited all day thinking of different ways to tell Dean and then just ended up blurting it out the second he walked through the door. 

The minute that memory comes floating back, Castiel goes cold. _Dean_. Oh, Jesus Christ. What is Cas going to do about Dean?

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. He walks out from the bathroom into the living room, inhales deeply into his lungs and then exhales. His eyes flutter closed. He forces himself to relax, mind and body. His fingers curl over the material on his stomach. 

Okay. 

He should tell someone. He thinks. It is too soon? No, someone else should know probably. He needs to talk about this. He needs to think about what he is going to do, preferably out loud. He has to pick up Hannah this afternoon, and he can't still be a ball of anxiety then. He can call someone or meet them somewhere and they can help him through this.  

The only problem is: who?

The list of important people in his life is short and unhelpful. Hannah? Obviously not. Anna? No. Gabe? He would probably take the news well, but would likely just try to push Castiel and Dean together like two Ken dolls being forced to embrace.  

There’s Balthazar as well, but the thought of that makes Castiel laugh in a humorless way. If there is one thing Balthazar isn't known for, it's compassion. And Castiel isn't so naive as to not notice that Balthazar doesn't exactly love kids. 

And then his mind goes to the obvious… Dean. Just the thought of the other man makes air catch in Cas' throat. 

He cannot tell Dean. Not yet, anyway. He knows that he should, he should probably be the first one that Cas tells. But… he's not ready. His mind is all over the place, he wouldn't even know what to say. 

Castiel needs to proceed with caution from this moment on. This isn’t anything like last time, when he'd gone running into Dean's arms and let him kiss him all over while they giggled over the idea of being parents. They're divorced now, and they're older. More sensible. 

God, what is he going to do?

All at once an idea comes to him, and he thanks God that he’s at least capable of one solid thought. He goes to his jacket and retrieves his cell phone, dialing in an unfamiliar number. For the first few rings, he putters around his living room, feeling like an utter fool, until finally there’s the brisk answer of a “Yeah?”

Cas sighs a breath of relief. “Thank God. I need your help. I know this is going to sound bizarre, but I genuinely think you’re the only person I can turn to.”

They agree to meet within the hour, and Castiel professes his absolute gratitutde until he's forced to hang up the phone.

When Pamela shows up on his doorstep around noon, it feels as if Cas is finally at the end of a long test period. Leaving himself alone to think had not been a good idea. By the time he answers the door, he's worked himself into such a spiral that he imagines there's a physical cloud around his head. He's needs to talk about this, needs to give a voice to all the anxieties clogging his head. 

Pamela is the perfect, unbiased person. 

She barely waits for Castiel to wave her in before she strolls in casually to the living room and plops herself firmly onto the couch. “So, spill,” she tells him with an attitude that says she's not here to mess around. 

Castiel respects that. He aims to mimic it. It's difficult, and he stutters over the words a few times, but he finally manages to look her in the eye and say, “I’m pregnant.”

Wow. Saying the words aloud adds a gravity to them. His fingers itch to glide over his tummy again but he holds back. 

Pamela returns his gaze, her eyes going wide at first and then thin as he face turns smug. “Well, look at you, you little minx," she teases, "I had no idea you were so busy in your spare time.”

Castiel holds back a glare- she is here to help him after all. A second later, her face falls significantly just before she mutters, “Oh, God, I hope you and old Balthy didn’t…”

Castiel steps in before she can let that thought go any further. “No! God, no." That would be awful. That would be even worse than his current situation, and he does have to admit that he feels just the slightest bit of relief when he remembers that things could actually somehow be worse than they are now.

Pamela, for her part, looks doubly as relieved as him to hear that there will be no mini-Balthazars joining this Earth. She doesn't press the issue, but Castiel wants to tell her. He wants her to have all the facts, so that she can help him figure out what to do.

That doesn't mean he's not nervous. He fidgets with a crease on his pants for just a moment, eyes focused steadily downwards. He tries to keep his voice cool and casual. "Actually… It’s Dean. I slept with Dean last month.”

She tosses up an eyebrow curiously. 

“My ex.”

At that, she lets out a long slow whistle. “Well, boy howdy does that sound like a real pickle.... unless you two are planning on patching things up?” Cas grimaces, and she adds, “I’m guessing no.”

What a question that is.

“Well, the thing is…" Cas starts, already feeling as if this is some kind of grand confession. "I guess I don’t know. I don’t have a clue, really. When it happened, that night, I just kind of... let it? Or maybe I initiated. I don't know."

She gives him a knowing look. "Vodka?"

"Tequila."

"Woof," she barks out. She leans back into the couch and looks him over again. "Was it at least good?"

Already, Castiel can feel his cheeks burning. "I'd rather not answer that question," he answers, avoiding her face. 

"That's a goddamn yes." She moves then so that she's leaning forward, elbows on her hands and knees, making it very clear that Castiel has her full attention. Her tone changes dramatically, from playful to serious. “Listen, you’re a smart guy, Cas. You didn’t ask me over here to tell you what your options are. You know good and well what you can do.”

That's not untrue. Of course Castiel has already gone over each of the many scenarios multiple times in the hour he waited for her to arrive. But still... 

He turns sheepish, looking up at her through his lashes. “Maybe... you could tell me anyways? Walk me through them like I’m an idiot.” She quirks an eyebrow and he admits lowly, “Like? I am an idiot.”

She doesn't correct him. “Okay, let’s start with the obvious. You don’t have to keep it, you know.”

Cas nods slowly. “I know.”

He knows that. Objectively, in a very third-party kind of way, he's aware that it's among his options. Hell, he's always been a vocal supporter of a pregnant person's right to choose. 

“You could take care of it now, never even breath a word to him. He doesn’t have to know one way or the other.”

He continues to sit in silence, picturing every single thing that would follow as a consequence of that decision. Going to the doctor, that cold metal table. Coming home afterward, having to live his whole life with this secret. Having to look Dean in the face every week, never telling him the truth of the matter; of what could have been. His stomach turns uncomfortably.

From the couch, Pamela takes him in, her eyes studious. “….but I’m guessing from your face right now you’ve already decided against that.”

Cas doesn't deny it. “I… think so, yes. I mean, I shouldn’t be so sure. I’m not, in my head. But in my heart and my gut I just…”

She waves her hands in front of her face, as if to say, _forget about it_. “Option number two then. Tell him.” Castiel winces.  "Now, what you do after you tell him would be another issue..."

What would he do? That's the real question of this. Truthfully, Cas knows how Dean will react. Or, he at least has an indication, given how he behaved the morning after... well, just the morning after. But Castiel isn't ready to just throw away all his concerns so quickly. Ten years ago, sure. But now...

His voice is tortured when he answers, "I don't know."

Pamela can see how upset he's become. She inches forward so that she's practically off the couch completely, and goes to lay a hand on Cas' knees, comforting. "Okay, pal. Soft and sweet isn't normally my deal, so just know that this is a little difficult for me." She pauses, like she might expect some kind of answer from Castiel, but he offers none. So she continues, "But you asked me here. I think you asked me here because you knew I'd ask the tough questions."

Is that true? Castiel doesn't even know his own motivations anymore. Probably. He wishes that she wouldn't now, or that she could just give him the answers. 

He knows what she's going to say next, and yet it still feels like a stabbing pain when she asks, "...do you want to be with him?"

The words rock Castiel, even though he knew they were coming. He shakes his head violently back and forth, and then nods. "I don't know. It's too hard. I don't know."

"Okay, okay," Pamela withdraws her hand from him and pulls back into herself. "You don't have to decide right now." 

He can't tell if she's inviting him to talk it out, but that's what he needs to do. He swallows loudly and steadies himself. "The thing is, I've always put my daughter first. And, as great as it is for her to have two dads who live together as one family, I've just always been more focused on making the situation we have now... or had, I suppose. Whatever-- I wanted to work with what we had before I went about even thinking about anything else. But now... if there's two kids... If we're going to have two children together and be a family of four now... I mean, is it selfish to try, or is it selfish not to try? How is this going to affect Hannah? And..." He grows quiet and turns to look down at his stomach.

When he looks up again, his guest is looking at him sort of like... well, sort of like he's crazy. Which is pretty fair. "Okay but... what about you?"

Castiel doesn't understand the question. "What does that mean?"

"Shit, man," Pamela scoffs loudly, "I love my kid but sometimes I gotta do things just for me."

The last thing Cas had done for himself was moving back home. Leaving Dean. And, he supposes, also sleeping with Dean. Besides that, every decision in his life has been a conscious effort to be the best father, to give Hannah the best life possible. He's not accustomed to making decisions for himself. 

"It's not selfish," she goes on, "It's something I have to do to keep me from going crazy. If I never took a minute for me, I'd go fucking crazy. And then what kind of mom would I be? You know?"

Huh. That's an... interesting concept. Making himself happy _so that_ Hannah can be happy. That's.... he's never thought of that. 

But does he even want to be with Dean? There's a reason they're divorced. It's not as if they we crazy in love when Castiel made the decision to leave three years ago. Granted, some things have changed... 

It scares him to think about. It's so much easier to just dig his heels into the ground, to stick with the choice he's made and never have to think about it again. 

But... that night... 

Cas shakes his head again and scrapes his nails across his scalp. "Oh god, but what if it all went to shit? I can't stop thinking that we got together too young and the chances of us ending up together at the end are slim to none. And I can't do it again. I can't.... I can't go through all that again."

The heartbreak that he'd felt when he first came back home? It was unimaginable. It was like someone had died. Why on earth would he subject himself to the possibility of going through that again? 

Pamela shrugs, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Life's messy, you know? There's no guarantees. Maybe that sound trite, but... it's the truth. You can go into a decision with all your corners neatly tucked and your plans all made, and it'll still go to shit. And sometimes things happen by fucking chance and it turns out to be all roses and sunshine."

Castiel can attest to both those things personally. 

He chews on his lower lips, trying to sort everything in his brain into its right place. What's right and what's wrong; what's true and what's not.  

While he's doing that, Pamela offers one more thought. "I'll tell you one more thing- my ex? My kid's dad? He's a grade-A asshole. I wouldn't go back to him for all the money in the world." She says with with a right amount of disdain that Cas knows she's not kidding. "Your guy, Dean? He sounds pretty sweet."

Then she raises her hands in a gesture of submission and says, "Just an outside opinion, in case you need it."

Castiel stops for a moment to consider that. Probably too long, because after a minute, Pamela stands to her feet and asks, as if to pull him back, "You want to ride with me to the office? We can stop on the way for some grub."

He stands as well, steeping across the room to search for his jacket. "Hm... yes to the food but no to the ride. I should take my own car." The last thing he needs is the stress of being stranded at the office... or needing to take a ride from Balthazar. Cas doesn't necessarily feel like being around him right now. 

Pam smiles one of her devlish smiles at him. "Alright. Prego gets to choose the place." 

Weirdly, Castiel lets a small smile serve as his response to that. As much as he is totally lost and screwed in every way... the sentiment makes him feel happy. He doesn't know why. Life's getting weirder every minute. 

When they're sitting down at a fast food place (which he is already happy to write off as a consequence of pregnancy brain), sitting on opposite sides of a cold, uncomfortable table, Pamela asks him as she chomps into a burger, "So you feel better, kiddo?"

Without having to think much, Castiel replies, "Yes. I do." And it's true. Everything's coming at him so fast that his head is turning, and yet he feels... calm. He's not going to make any rash decisions... but he's seeing things a bit clearer now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH could be better, sad we didn't see Dean at all, and overall I think it's a pretty short chapter, but I just wanted to get it out to you people and be done with it!


	9. Chapter 9

For the next few weeks, everything Cas does feel foggy. His life feels like a distorted watercolor, every line smudged and blurry. Everything is touched by the stain of this secret he's keeping. 

He goes back to letting his siblings do the Hannah exchanges for him, without giving them any explanation as they why he’s in need of their assistance. Most likely they assume he’s occupied with work, and he has no intention to set them on the right path. Not for the time being, at least. 

And in truth, they aren’t too far off the mark. Cas has been burying himself in different projects at the office. It’s far more simple for him to concentrate on the threat of water pollution or changes in the school system than his own personal issues right now. (Not to mention the ever-present reminder that in a few months time he’ll have to go on paternity leave. It’s inevitable, and he’d rather dig in his roots now so that when the time comes his presence will be missed.)

Even though time has passed and he's trying his best to just settle back into his normal life, he’s beginning to walk around in a cloud of paranoia. The word feels severe- but not inaccurate. He looks at his co-workers and wonders, do they know? Is it obvious? 

One day, Balthazar approaches his from behind and wraps an arm affectionately around his shoulder. He declares loudly, “I don’t know what it is lately, Cassie, but you look wonderful. Your skin is positively glowing!” For several hours after that, Castiel wastes time concocting imaginary scenarios in which his boss has somehow managed to divine the fact that he’s pregnant, accidental reveal it to everyone in his life and subsequently fire him. It's an insane scenario to even postulate, but anxiety's a hell of a thing, and what can possibly make a person more anxious that guarding a giant secret like his? 

If the stakes weren't so high, he thinks, he wouldn't be so nervous. But they are. His whole life hangs in the balance here, and it makes him feel terrified to make a move. 

But at least, his secret is safe. Aside from Pamela, there’s not a single soul that knows of the extra weight he’s carrying. He's taken all the steps he could to destroy the evidence- a necessary step with Hannah peeking around every corner and through every drawer. 

And now that enough time has passed, he can’t pretend to be confused anymore. He knows exactly what he needs to do. The only problem he can see is that he doesn’t know whether he’s scared to do it, or excited. 

 

 

 

He decides to stop by the shop. It’s a much easier place, for both of them; neither his home nor Dean’s, a bit of a middle ground. Not to mention that it’s probably the only place he’ll ever be able to find Dean at a time when neither of them is accompanied by a certain curious little girl. 

When the bell chimes to herald his entrance through the front door of the reception area, Cas is greeted by the kind smile of a familiar, whiskered face. 

“Well, hey there, Cas.”

Bobby is remarkably unchanged since the last time Cas had seen him, which was probably more than five years ago now. His hair is the same salt-and-pepper combination, same baseball hat sitting on his head, same mixture of begrudging happiness on his face. 

“Ain’t seen you around for ages,” he continues, standing up from his chair with a groan. 

“Bobby,” Cas smiles as he approaches the desk. “It’s so good to see you.”

And it is. It is so nice to see him. Like… like a piece of living nostalgia. Castiel instantly feels like he’s sixteen again upon seeing Bobby, like he’s about to be on the receiving end of a scolding for coming in and distracting Dean at work. He nearly readies himself for the old 'get busy workin' or get busy walkin' ' and for a heart-stopping second he wonders where he left his homework.

Bobby comes out from behind the desk. He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, just as Castiel remembers him. For all he knows, Bobby may have been wearing the same shirt the last time they met. 

“Heard you got some fancy newspaper job.”

Dean talks about him at work? There’s no reason that should come as a surprise to Cas, and yet... it does. Cas sighs and holds himself back from rolling his eyes. He's going to have to stop being surprised by anything Dean does, or he's going to waste a lot of his own time.  

Still, he does his best to play it cool. He chuckles amicably, “I don’t know about fancy, but it is a newspaper.”

Bobby's eyes twinkle somewhat as the early afternoon sun shines in through the freshly cleaned windows. It's somehow much less musty in this room that Castiel had pictured. The walls looks fresh, neat. He wonders if they've been painted lately, though Bobby never seemed up for keeping up appearances just for other peoples' sake. 

“Ya like it?” asks Bobby, reeling Cas back in from his wandering train of thoughts.

He focuses back on the conversation. Castiel is glad that the older man doesn't seem to holding any sort of grudge. It would have been easy for him to take Dean's side in all this, if taking sides was a thing that they have even done. “Yeah. I like it a lot, as a matter of fact.”

Bobby nods. They lapse into silence for a short pause, but a comfortable one. Cas could go on all day making polite chit-chat with Bobby, but he'd better get around to the reason he's here in the first place. The big'un. “Is Dean in?”

A look flashes in Bobby's eyes, but Castiel can't quite place. “Yeah, sure. He’s in back. Go on through.” He waves his hands at the door that leads into the main garage area and Cas walks off in that direction, flashing one last sincere smile at Bobby before he turns his back to him and exits the room. 

The garage is loud and exciting. Some cars are hoisted up into the air, and others are sat on the ground with their hoods propped up, an arm or a leg sticking out from either side of the vehicle. Cars never had been Cas' thing- he only wants something to get him from one place to another, safely, and so much the better it it's fuel-efficient- but he did learn a thing or two about them during his time with Dean. He might not appreciate the inner workings of a diesel engine, for example, but he can understand why someone else would.

His eyes search the large room for Dean's familiar shape and they find it quickly. He's just a few cars down the line, leaning forward for a close inspection of an old sport car, the firm muscles of his biceps tensing as he grips the grill of the car. Cas' feet stop cold when he realizes he's staring. He tugs his lower lip between his teeth and chews on it for a few seconds, trying to work up the courage to speak.

The last time they'd had a real conversation was that day, when Cas had stomped on Dean's heart, again. That'd make about the fourth time, if Cas is counting right. And then there was that night when Dean found him with Balthazar. Not that it was like that, but how was Dean to know that? He'd sounded so angry. Just because they'd been civil to each other in front of Hannah recently didn't mean that things would be the same when they were alone. 

Dean turns around, hands and arms stained black with oil. That's another memory for Castiel, one that sits firmly as the base of his spine and could produce a tingle at any moment if it so chose. Thick, black motor oil; first on Dean's hands and then staining the material of Castiel's nice khaki pants. Hot summer days when Dean came to visit him after work and peeled off the tight t-shirt that was stuck to his body... 

It's in the middle of this particularly dangerous train of thought that Dean appears to take notice of him. 

“Cas.” 

The way Dean says his name right then is filled with surprise, but not anger. It's not hard or soft or harsh or smooth. It's... indifferent. Which Cas is upset to find is even worse than the seething way his voice had sounded that night outside his apartment with Balth. 

"What are you doing here?”

_Eye contact. Remember to maintain eye contact_. “I need to talk to you,” says Cas in return, keeping his eyes level and his voice steady.

Dean shakes head, very much like the way a shaggy dog would. He looks around him in a circle and then grabs at a rag that hangs off the car he's working on. “Yeah," he answers, tone growing in firmess, "Yeah, head on into the back office. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Cas nods curtly and spins on his heels, his feet trotting the familiar path to the back office of Bobby’s garage. He takes care to close the door behind him and sits down at the old, wooden desk that sits towards the back wall on the room. This is where he'd camp out for hours, working on assignments while he waited for Dean to get off work. Thinking back now, Cas doesn't know how Bobby wasn't annoyed to death by his presence here in the shop. It's a functioning business, with customers and heavy machinery, and yet he let Dean's boyfriend hang around most days for no reason at all. 

Cas suspects it has something to do with the fact that Bobby likes to see Dean happy. And Cas made Dean happy. 

Makes. Maybe.

The door opens noisily and closes before Cas has the time to look up. He stands up from his chair and walks around to the other side of the desk. Dean doesn’t waste any time puttering around. “Is this something to do with Hannah?” he asks, hovering near the far wall. As far away from Cas as he physically can be.

Cas is leaned back against the desk, his fingers scratching at the rough wood. _Splinters_ , the dad part of his brain reminds him. He retracts his hand. “No… it’s not.”

“Alright…” responds Dean with a tad of trepidition. He slides into one of the chairs that run along the wall. “Is it bad news?”

Cas doesn’t answer that. He takes a deep breath, building up the courage to look Dean in the eye again when he says it. 

Dean drums his fingers along the arm of his chair for several seconds. He laughs uneasily. “Cas you’re kinda freaking me out h--”

“I’m pregnant.”

_Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump_. Castiel listens to the sound of his thumping heart pounding inside his ears. 

Dean sits back in shock. “Oh. Okay.”

Well. He’s said it now. It’s not a secret anymore. It’s information that is out in the open, and it belongs to Dean now, too. It’s a relief not having to keep it in anymore; and at the same time, he wishes that he could have guarded it to himself for a little longer. He doesn't want to hear what Dean is going to say. He's too scared for the realness of it.

It's easy when everything is just a hypothesis, just a theory or a picture inside his head. That way, he can control it. He can make people do what he wants and say what he wants, and if he doesn't like it then he can go back and change it and re-run the scenario. But Dean is a real person. He's emotional and unpredictable, like all humans are. Castiel just wants this whole thing to be done with. 

“And it’s…?”

Cas' head shoots up and he looks at Dean with his jaw dropped slightly.  “Of course it’s yours.” He says it almost indignantly. But of course it is. Castiel hadn't even considered that that would be  question. Dean’s the only man he’s slept with in three years; the only man he’s ever slept with. Cas wouldn’t be so irresponsible with someone else. He shouldn't have even been that irresponsible with Dean, but, well. Here they are. 

Dean appears to swallow. He readjusts himself in his chair and coughs one. "...you're sure?"

The look Castiel gives him must display whatever feeling Cas is unable to put into words, because Dean immediately backtracks. He throws up his hands in a gesture of submission and mutters, “Alright, alright. I don’t know… just, I didn’t know.”

Tension radiates through the room. Castiel doesn't know if this is going the way he had thought it would. He's too nervous to be analytical. His eyes dart every so often over to the chair and he takes in the expression Dean is wearing. He watches his chest puff up and down from the large breaths he's inhaling. He counts the seconds of silence. 

Slowly, he starts to notice the look on Dean's face changing, minutely. First, it softens. Hard lines melt away into a neutral expression, which quickly turns... happy. Reserved, but happy. Cas doesn't say anything. He wouldn't know what to say. 

“And you’re…" Dean licks at his lips. His eyes are fixed on Cas' stomach, "what are you gonna do?”

“I’m keeping it.” And that’s that. He is not accepting arguments on that front. 

The room falls silent again. Behind the thin walls, drills screech and hydraulic lifts _whoosh_ and a radio blasts faintly from some far off corner. But in this room, in this moment, there isn’t a single sound. 

Dean starts to stand up from the uncomfortable metal chair he’d been sitting in. He takes a few steps forward toward Castiel. Cas freezes in place. 

“Well… this is great. Cas, this is great.”

A gust of air rushes out of Castiel. He'd known all along that Dean would react positively to the news, but at the last minute he hadn't felt so sure. He might have been angry. Might have hated Cas. Might have wanted to get rid of it. 

Dean's feet pause halfway across the floor, leaving a fair amount of space between him and Cas. But the corners of his lips are turning up and his eyes are starting to shine in a way that Castiel hasn't seen in a long, long time. “I mean, you can’t you don’t see it now. Right? This whole thing... It’s like fate.”

Cas snorts. He's wound tight like a coil and the sound bounces up from his throat before he can stop it. “I have very little reason to believe in fate.”

Dean’s eyes go wide and he begins to gesticulate wildly. “This! This is the reason!”

The intensity of the moment scares Castiel. Dean might be right. He doesn't know. He wishes that he had planned farther than just blurting out the words _I'm pregnant_ and winging it from there _._  

When he sees how Castiel backs away in response, Dean runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath to calm down. He readjusts, voice more steady, more even now. “Come on, just… think about it. You, me, Hannah, all together? And… now a baby?” His eyes fall to Castiel’s stomach and he takes a step forward. “Fuck, I… It just feels like we’ve been given the perfect chance to start over. To... pick up where we left off, you know?”

God damn it, the way he smiles right then is making it very hard for Castiel to stay firm. He wants to kiss Dean. Is that hormones? He bites his lip and looks away. 

“Cas, things are different now.” Dean takes another step forward. He’s very close now. His voice is calm and low, the vibrations soothing Castiel's every frayed nerve. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, and I’m staying here. I’m never leaving you guys ever again.”

One final step and his shoes are bumping up against Castiel's. Cas' breathing hiccups as Dean leans in close and tells him with a quiet intensity, "You kissed me for a reason that night. You must have."

He reaches out a hand to Castiel, but the moment it connects with his arm, Cas pulls back and shouts at him, “Don’t touch me!”

Dean's eyes bug out and he lifts his arm up and away from Castiel. The second he does, Cas feels a gigantic wave of guilt. That had come out much more harsh than he intended. “I'm sorry," he murmurs apologetically, "I-I'm sorry, I just… I need to keep a cool head about this. I need to be smart and think about this logically, and I know that if you touch me…”

 _I won't be able to say no_. 

Dean takes a step backward, removing himself from Castiel's immediate personal space. His eyes are still shining hopefully. There's a determination there, too, that has Castiel's posture relaxing and his breathing going slow. 

"You don't have to try to be smart," Dean tells him, mouth quirked into a half grin. Castiel wants to smile, too. God he's in so much trouble. 

"Cas, listen to me," Dean says with a kind of command, a kind of desperation in his voice that has Castiel's emotions more blurred that ever, "I know that I fucked up in the past. I know a lot of shit was my fault. You have to believe me that I'll fix it. I will spend every day proving to you that I can be what you need. All of you.” His eyes drop once to Castiel's stomach and his tone takes on another layer of seriousness. “I’ll work all day, and I’ll provide for you, and then I’ll come home and take care of everything else. I'll do diapers, I'll do feedings. I'll do all the stuff I didn't do the first time around.”

Cas thinks back to the first few months of Hannah's life. How difficult it was to do all by himself. How hard he tried not to resent Dean for being away, and how disappointed he was when he eventually failed.

Here, now, Dean's energy is building incrementally. He's practically bouncing on his toes as he keeps speaking. “A-and you can keep working. You don’t have to quit your job, I mean-- shit, I’ll be a stay-at-home dad if that’s what you want.” 

His cheeks are turning pink, but he doesn't look away from Castiel's eyes. The perseverance is coming off of him in waves. There's doesn't seem to be anything Castiel could say or do to make him try and back down. 

Castiel raises a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at his hairline. “I need to think,” is all he says. He wonders actually if maybe thinking is his problem. What he ought to do is stop thinking. 

“Okay, Cas," Dean clears a little more space in front of Castiel, "Take your time." 

Cas nods his head up and down a few times more than necessary, trying to steady himself while he figures out if this is a good place to leave the discussion. He looks up at Dean, who is obviously trying to hide a grin behind a very unconvincing mask of neutrality. That image says it all to Cas. He'll leave it here for now and come back when he's made a decision about what to do next. 

Just as he goes to the door to take his leave, he stops and turns around when a thought comes to mind. "You're still taking her next week?" When Dean gives him a confused look, he specifies. "During school vacation?"

It's like a switch has gone off, and now they're back in Parent Mode. Their own issues and emotions get pushed down so they can focus their attention on the thing that really matters. 

"Oh yeah," Dean answers with a wave of the hand, "I've got it all figured out. Sam's gonna watch her during the day. It's all good."

"Okay, great. See you Friday." His hand rests on the handle, but makes no move to turn it. There's just... one more thing. "Dean?"

He turns his head over his shoulder so that he just catch half of Dean's expression.

"Yes?" 

Dean voice sounds is full of kindling: small, bright, working towards something. Cas swallows audibly. 

"Could you just.. not tell anybody? About the..." It still feels weird to say it out loud. "Just not yet."

With one eye, he can see the way Dean's hands are twitching. Castiel knows him well enough to know that the prickliness in his body language can only mean one thing: _Not even Sam?_  

But Dean doesn't say anything. He tucks his hand behind his back and answers with a firm, "You've got it." 

Castiel nods his silent thanks and turns away. He closes the door with a quiet click and doesn't turn back around as he walks out of the garage. He walks out through one of the large doors where the cars enter instead of the office, but waves goodbye to Bobby through the glass window that separates the two areas. He puts his hands into his pockets and sighs. 

He feels about a hundred pounds lighter. Just telling Dean allows him to feel less guilt in the present and more hope about the future. Their future, as a family. And Dean did say some things that made Castiel really want to listen to him, to believe him. 

He just needs to make sure that his final decision is the right one, for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL I'm sorry this is like the slowest burn in the world, I didn't even realize it was gonna be this bad. Haha. Thanks for sticking it out with me! Really looking forward to hearing all your hopes and dreams for these two dopes.


	10. Chapter 10

Work is good. Work is simple. It’s clean cut, and it’s got borders, and even though he so often spends hours in his bed at home researching for an angle on a story that’s piqued his interest, he knows when he’s working and when he isn’t. It’s that kind of clarity he‘s gripping onto right now, just while he can. Just for a little while longer. 

Being at work right now brings Castiel a kind of peace that he might normally find in time spent with family or, if hard-pressed, a bottle of wine- something which is obviously off the table right now. That's all right- better to steer his surplus of energy down more positive avenues.  And with Hannah being camped out at Dean’s for the duration of her school break, Cas doesn't have any reason to go home. Which sounds depressing, he realizes upon thinking it.... but at least he is free to stay at the office as late as he wants. 

It’s a totally boring way to cash in on his freedom. It’s also very typical of Cas. He can hear Gabe's and Anna's voices in his head, mocking him, taunting him to try and 'get the stick out of his ass'. 

A little more quietly, a little more kind, Dean's in there too.

Castiel takes a breath and hakes his head. He ought to try and get some work done while he's here. 

He misses Hannah near to death, but he can’t say that having her out of the house is all negative. He's got time to himself, space to breath. Time to dedicate to research and writing; to thinking.

Thinking is not good. Well, he guesses it is. There's only one thing he's thinking of, really. The same picture flashing into mind every time he drifts off even for half a second.

He stays at the office long past his normal working hours. He needs the extra time to make up for all the diatribes his mind is taking during the day. Not that it gets so much better at night.  When his co-workers leave and the office empties out, when his own cubicle is the only one under the glow of the depressing, fluorescent bulbs, he goes into the bathroom. The women’s room, the one near the water cooler with the floor-length mirror. Then he turns to his side and looks over his reflection, from head to toe, of course letting his eyes rest upon on very specific part of his body.

Even in the midst of what one might call extreme emotional turmoil, Castiel feels a light-headed, finger-tingling joy that he couldn't deny if he wanted to. 

He is seven weeks and three days pregnant, according to his calculations, and he is loving every minute. Well, _most_ minutes- he is, unfortunately, still experiencing the occasional bout of morning sickness; but overall, this time around is much smoother than Hannah was. Apparently adult bodies are more suited to pregnancy. Who would have known? 

He’s also finding that there's a surprising level of confidence he has this time around, an incredible self of self-assurance. He has to say, he likes it. He likes it quite a bit.

His life is still a mess, nothing's changed on that front. But in terms of head space, of the worries he can remember being plagued by last time, when he was driven constantly to the edge by the dangerous hormonal cocktail of being pregnant and a teenager at the same time... well, they're almost nonexistent. He doesn't sit at home in the dark worrying if Dean will find him attractive, or cry when he looks in the mirror and thinks his cheeks look fat that day. He's much too busy creating a human life. That is itself is an incredible feat, and it takes up too much energy to spend any of the leftovers on useless anxieties. 

And anyways, he knows that Dean still thinks he's sexy. Better not to spend too much time thinking about _that_ though.

After he spends enough time rubbing a hand over his tummy and smiling at his reflection, he goes back to his desk and sets in to his work, for real this time. He opens up a tab to start looking into sources for the article he’d promised to help Pamela out with... and then he opens three more to look at recommended sleeping habits for newborns, DIY baby food recipes and Dean’s Facebook page.

The last one catches his interest the most. It's funny, Dean's not very good at keeping with an online presence. All of his pictures are outdated and goofy- though the man couldn't take a bad picture if he tried, good Lord. Nonetheless, Castiel's lips curl up at the corners warmly all the same. 

He’s so close to making the final call; to just manning up and going over to Dean’s place and telling him exactly what he wants. Which… well, he doesn’t know _exactly_ what it is, but he can see it in his head. It comes in flashes of backyard parties and family movie nights. Making new home videos and watching them together.  

But then, when would this- this  confrontation even take place? When Hannah’s at school? When she’s sleeping in the next room? He’d rather she be as far away as possible for this stage of the whole thing. She just... doesn't need to be any more confused than she already is. 

Castiel exits out of Facebook and the cribs, but keeps the article on sleeping habits open. From the far end of the office, music starts creeping towards him. It’s a dulcet tune, a thick, rich saxophone that actually comes off as a little cheesy to Castiel, but he hums along with it anyway. Balthazar must still be around. Cas had thought he was alone in the office- he had been every other night this week. 

The musics swells suddenly to a distracting level. Cas peers over the top of his cubicle and sees the door is open with Balthazar spilling out of it into the hallway. He raises his head just as Castiel is about to duck back down. 

“Oh, Cassie!" His voice rings out, echoing across the empty room. "Darling! Come on into my office. We’ve got to celebrate.”

Castiel would rather not. But, as usual, it's not exactly in his best interest to deny his boss. He stands up cautiously and pads over toward Balth.  “And what are we celebrating exactly?”

Balthazar waves him in, his hands moving in big dramatic gestures. His cologne nearly chokes Castiel as he walks by-- he turns it into a cough at the last second to save them both from embarrassment. Balth closes the door behind him and swings around on Castiel, who stands in the center of the office, waiting. 

“Just got off a big conference call," he sings confidently. A hand laid on Castiel's lower back steers him over to the couch that sits along the wall.  "Secured some very lucrative financing.” The same hand gives him a gentle push so that he falls back onto the soft leather of the couch. Balthazar's turned away in a second but he returns in the blink of an eye with a rocks glass filled with a hefty pour of a clear liquid. “Here, have a drink.”

Castiel can tell that Balthazar already has. He eyes the drink of front of him warily. He plucks it from his boss' hand delicately and holds it for an appropriate number of seconds before gingerly placing it on the table in front of him. “Well that’s great,” he says cheerily. “Better advertisers means less worrying. We can start writing what we want a bit more. Right?”

To be frank, the business side of things isn't Castiel's strong suit. There's numbers and math and politics to all of it, that much he understands. But he'd rather leave that side to Balthazar while he gets to play around on the creative end. 

Balthazar takes another long drink and nods his head slowly. “Yes, yes… and we can get rid of Zachariah.”

Cas' eyes go wide as saucers when he hears that. The second he's done it he realizes how inappropriate it is, but it's involuntary. 

“Really?”

_The Post_ without Zachariah's negative presence... well that's damn near a perfect situation for Cas. Zach is one of the main reasons why Castiel tries so hard not to let his personal life bleed into his professional. Balthazar, Pamela, Chuck- Castiel knows they're all open-minded, progressive people. They wouldn't care if he's pregnant and unmarried, much less his sexuality. But with Zachariah... he makes his values clear, and they're fairly conservative, Castiel can say. He's also not shy about letting those values influence what they choose to publish. Castiel has held his tongue for a long time about that, but maybe that's all over now. 

“Oh, yes," mumbles Balth, taking a seat next to Castiel on the couch and crossing his legs. "We can oust that old curmudgeon and take on… well, take on more people like you, Castiel.”

Cas looks up and sees Balthazar's eyes taking on a new twinkle. His legs are uncrossed now and closer to Castiel's. “Like me?" he asks, "Really?”

“Oh yes." Another sip. "We need more fresh perspective, more young blood. People who are young and intelligent… handsome…” His gaze drags up from the Castiel's toes and stops right around his lips. Cas goes red immediately and averts his eyes. 

"You're flattering me." He says it to deflect the growing discomfort he's feeling. He can't figure out what's going on in Balthazar's eyes; there's something there he's never seen before and doesn't frankly care for. 

Balthazar's lips part slowly to reveal his teeth, but the effect isn't what Castiel would call a smile. There's something wolfish about it. 

“Have a drink, Cas," he says, leaning back into the couch and gesturing to the glass on the table. "Relax.”

Everything he is doing seems like it's coming out of a bad movie. Castiel feels frozen, unable to do anything. So he elects to proceed with caution. “...Balthazar. What are you doing?”

"Oh, come on," Balth coos, hands inching closer to Cas' knee, "Don't play games, Cassie."

The nickname irks him. His stomach is cramped, but he needs a minute to figure out if this is something he can shake off and walk away from or if he needs to have this conversation right now. While he's in the middle of deciding, Balthazar slides a firm hand indecently up his thigh. 

"Balthazar!" he cries, leaping up. 

For his part, Balthazar is unfazed. It's as if he expected Castiel to react with indignation. Has this all been planned? "Cas, Cas, Cas," Balthazar shakes his head as if he's tired of these little games. He looks up at Cas' face and his eyes are piercing. "Castiel. You knew good and well what was going on here."

"I..." Did he? He wants so say he didn't have a clue, but he's second-guessing a lot of things right now. All those dinner Balthazar took him to, all those cocktails he bought. Was he just being naive? 

Pamela had warned him about this. 

Cas takes a step back, away from couch, with his hands out in front of him in an attempt to create a barrier between them. "Balthazar," he exhales in shaky voice, "we're friends. You're my boss."

Balthazar stands to his feet. "Yes, Castiel. I am your boss." There's something in the way he says it. It's doesn't come across as comforting. It sounds almost like- almost like there's a threat in there.

Castiel is starting to feel nervous now. Balthazar takes a step toward him and the look in his eyes only hardens. "Come on, now, sweetheart. Let's be honest here. You're wonderful, for so many reasons.... but you didn't think I chose you special because of your ability to throw together a sentence."

Apparently he is just that naive. 

Balth moves closer and raises a hand towards Cas. "Now, listen, sweetheart. I can think of a few ways this relationship can be mutually beneficial..."

Castiel feels gross all over. "I'm leaving," he declares, with all the conviction he can muster over the bile that's threatening its way up his esophagus. He turns in a circle, trying to remember if he had a coat in here with him, but after a few seconds decides he doesn't care and that he has to get out of there immediately, without pause. He makes a break for the door without sparing another look towards the boss- the friend he feels so utterly betrayed by right now. 

But it's not going to be so easy. Balthazar steps into his path to block his exit. This is just another part of the game for him, apparently. "Cassie, don't go." He remains cool and confident. "We both know where this is going to end up."

Before Cas can do anything else, Balthazar's hand is on his forearm. He gives a squeeze, gentle but insistent, and his eyebrows dancing like his behavior right now isn't that of what Castiel would call a class-A creep. 

He hesitates for just a second before he lets it slip. "Balth. I'm pregnant."

Balth's hands drop away just as his mouth falls open into a very unattractive gawk. Cas tries not to feel the sting of how apparently shocking it is that he somehow managed to get laid, and uses the time instead to make his escape. He doesn't even stop by his cubicle on the way out. All he needs is his wallet and his keys so he runs out to the parking lot with the sultry sound of saxophone still trailing behind him. 

Once he's in the Prius, he takes a minute to lean his forehead against the steering wheel and breathe out some of the anxiety that's welled up inside his chest. He feels disgusting. He feels sick and foolish and he wants to wriggle out of his skin. And nervous- what's going to happen to his job? No time to worry about that now, he has to get out of here before Balthazar comes out and tries to hump his car. 

He drives out onto the busy street with nowhere in mind as to where he wants to end up. His first thought is to go home, of course- but almost instantly the thought makes his stomach curl again. The house is so big and dark and empty, he doesn't want to be there right now. Not when he's feeing this way. And he doesn't want to have to explain himself to anyone either. 

"Goddamn it," he mutters to himself, gripping his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. 

On the one hand, he could kill himself for being such an idiot about the way the world works. It was childish of him: to move back into the big city after small town living for too many years, get handed a dream job out of nowhere and think it comes with no strings attached? Anna would laugh in his face for believing it. 

On the other hand, how was he _supposed_ to know? F rom the time he was sixteen he was insulated and protected by Dean’s presence, and it wasn’t until his mid-twenties that he was let loose into the world to experience all the bad things for himself.  He... he misses that presence. 

He could tell himself that this is all part of life: you have to take the good with the bad, live and learn and all that bullshit. Things like this make better writers out of people all the time. But really, he doesn't want to. He doesn't want this particular experience. 

He wants Dean. 

When it hits him, it's surprisingly forceful. This shouldn't come as any sort of earth-shattering revelation. And it isn't, he supposes. He wants to be married to his husband, he always knew that, somewhere deep down. It's the certainty he feels in that moment that strikes him. It's numbing. He hasn't felt this sure of himself in... too long. 

But in this moment, he's sure. He wants Dean in his bed at night and next to him at the breakfast table. He wants to wash his dirty socks and fight with him over weekend plans and cuddle up next to him when the weather gets cold. He wants to have a million of his babies. 

He wants it all. 

It’s so stupid that it’s taken him so long to just admit it to himself, but he doesn’t care. He needs to hold onto this moment before the clarity leaves him. He needs to see Dean right now. He needs to tell him. Cas knows himself well enough to know that he only has a short window before anxiety creeps and he finds a reason to back out again and spend the rest of his days pretending he’s not pining like a fifteen-year-old boy. 

He turns the car around at the first available turn and then blows through a stop sign. He presses on the gas until he's hovering just over the speed limit. It’s the first impulsive thing he’s done in years. 

His stomach turns over with delight. 

When he parks in front of Dean’s building, he doesn’t even think to lock up before he jumps out of the car and starts making his way toward the front door. The whole area around him is without noise. A yellow streetlight casts a hazy glow over the entrance of Dean’s building. 

It occurs to him suddenly that he has no idea what Dean might be doing upstairs. This might well be one of the last times he can say that. He looks down at his watch. 10:08. Hannah should be asleep, and Dean on the couch, hopefully alone. Castiel can’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face. 

The front door is propped open for some reason; a definite safety hazard but Cas will come back to that later, right now he’s much too occupied taking the stairs two at a time.He arrives in front of Dean’s door and gives himself a moment to catch his breath. This is it. 

Seconds after he knocks on the door it swings open. He expects to see Dean's handsome face, to be able to revel in it and appreciate every little detail for the first time in so long. But that's not who answers the door. Instead of looking into the forest green eyes of the love of his life, Castiel has to drop his eye line significantly closer to waist-level. 

“Daddy?” says Hannah, head tilted comically to the side. 

Castiel himself feels equally confused. He looks down at her and feels a bubble of nervous laughter tickling his throat. “What are you still doing up, young lady?”

She tilts her head the other way and serves up a cheeky grin. As she does, a set of footsteps come thumping down the hall and Dean’s voice barks out, “Hannah, who is i--”

Just the sound of his voice makes the smile reappear on Castiel’s face. How long he’s been trying to suppress this feeling. He imagines that’s only made it multiply. 

“Oh, Cas," Dean's voice goes soft when he notices who's standing in the doorway. "What are you… She’s on her way to bed right now, I swear. She’s already brushed her teeth and everything.”

Dad-mode tries its hardest to kick into gear. Castiel makes a conscience effort to seem easy-breezy when he shrugs his shoulders and says coolly, “It’s not my night.” Dean answers him with a set of raised eyebrows that tells Cas about little he’s selling the words. Oh, well. That's not important right now. 

“Daddy, how come you’re here?” Hannah asks. She might be trying to distract from her impending bed time, Castiel's a little too distracted to read her tone. "It's almost bedtime. 

"I know," Cas answers her in a sigh. He raises his eyes again and is finally treated to a good look at Dean's face. “But I have to talk to your dad.”

Behind her, Dean’s eyes shine like new. “Yeah?”

Castiel imagines his are doing the same. “Yeah.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello, my deepest apologies for the month-long break. This one posed a lot of problems for me. But to make it up to you, here's a nice long chapter with everything you've been waiting for.

Dean lays his hands on Hannah’s shoulders and immediately begins to steer her away from Castiel and down the hallway. Something exciting flickers in his eyes as they catch Cas’. “Okay, babydoll, let’s get moving.”

“Wait,” she whines, digging her heels into the ground, “I wanna say goodnight to Daddy.”

Castiel chuckles through the nerves as he watches Dean puff out a frustrated breath of air, roll his eyes and pluck his hands from Hannah. “Okay, fine, fine. But make it quick. You’re up way too late as it is."

Cas has the idea that it isn’t strictly abnormal for her to be awake so late on her weekends at Dean’s, but he decides not to give voice to the thought. It’s cute, that Dean seems to care what he thinks. It’s not quite the same as the ways he used to show off and horse around to get Castiel’s attention when they were sixteen-year-old kids, but it conjures up similar feelings. 

He leans down when Hannah dawdles up to him and gives her a good, tight squeeze. He reminds her how very much he loves her and tells her to be good. 

“I know, I know,” she grumbles, pushing away, as if annoyed by the implication that she isn’t _always_ good. She putters her way back over to Dean, who lays another hand on her back and tries with renewed gusto to shuffle her into her bedroom. 

Once the two of them have gone behind closed doors, Castiel takes a seat in one of the chairs by the kitchen island. He can feel his bones vibrating underneath his skin- so ramped up on anxiety and adrenaline. He closes his eyes and takes a long breath in an effort to try and keep himself cool. Stress certainly can’t be good for the baby, after all. 

He wonders what he’ll say to Dean when he comes out from Hannah’s bedroom. Should he start off with _I love you_ , going in strong right out of the gate? Maybe I need you, to show him how desperate he is, truly, to have Dean back. Or maybe even _I’m sorry_? Is an apology required at this point in their relationship?

Cas is so focused on what he’s going to say to Dean that he doesn’t notice how much time passes before his ex-husband reemerges into the hallway. It could be ten minutes, or twenty (probably more toward thirty if it’s anything like Castiel’s own experience of putting Hannah to bed). 

When at last the door creaks open again, Dean emerges on his tiptoes, moving silently down the hall, all the while with this little jokey grimace tugging down at the corners of his mouth. Castiel can’t but help smile as he focuses in on it. It makes a kind of peace settle into his body. He stands to his feet in anticipation. 

And then… nothing. 

Dean plants his feet a conservative couple of feet away from Cas. His body language is awkward, which Castiel understands but feels nonetheless disheartened by. He wonders to himself if Dean is trying not to allow himself to get too comfortable; too hopeful. 

When Dean looks up into his eyes at last, there is such a wave of tenderness that comes over Castiel that the whole room seems to go soft and fuzzy. Behind the piercing emerald of those irises, there’s a wild mixture of emotion. He wants to quell all that, to comfort every worry. 

First things first. 

“You said you wanted… to talk?”

Dean is forcing himself to keep a steady voice. There’s an excitement, a shakiness that rings around the sentence. 

Cas can only respond to that with a breathless burst of laughter. No, in fact, for the first time in years, he doesn’t want to talk about this. 

He crosses the room in what must be a flash of light because he doesn’t even have time to blink before he wraps his hands around the rough, stubbled curve of Dean’s jaw and pulls his mouth in, meeting it with his own. His lips part immediately, tongue licking out to search its way between Dean’s teeth. His eyes flutter shut contentedly. 

He feels so safe here. So safe and so good. 

Dean doesn’t take so much as a second to wrap his arms around Castiel’s back and start returning as much affection as he’s receiving. He’s careful of the belly as he pulls Cas in as tightly against him as he can. This moment is somehow brand new, even after years and years of precedent. 

“Fuck,” Dean curses lowly, and Castiel revels in the sound. It might as well be angels singing. He lets out a feverish giggle and ducks his lips back in to capture a few sweet, chaste kisses. He could kiss Dean all night. He will kiss him all night, if he’s got his say in it. 

Without warning, Dean pulls himself away and turns his head. Even when Cas goes to chase after his lips, he doesn’t budge. His jaw sets itself firmly, but his eyes are gentle. 

“Wait,” he says, low and full of regret, “Wait, Cas. You gotta… gotta tell me what’s going on.”

Castiel thinks it’s very obvious what’s going on here. He tries to let his says say that as a response, to answer only with a cheeky grin and a few more kisses, but he can see from the determined look on Dean’s face that he won’t take that as an answer.

He lets his hands fall to his sides and takes a step back from Dean. “Not in here.”

Dean tosses him a look that tells him he’s not tracking what Cas is saying, so he decides to go in for a bold move. 

“We could go to your bedroom.”

A stiff raise of the eyebrows from Dean. “You... sure that’s a good idea?”

Why it wouldn’t be a good idea, Castiel has no idea. Well, beside the fact that he’s in a bit of a state emotionally right now. And he’s pregnant. And their daughter is sleeping in just the other room. 

He plants his feet firmly on the ground and raises his chin. “I would like to discuss this further in your bedroom.” 

But then, because he doesn’t very much like the idea of being firm right now, he slides his hand down Dean’s arm and slips his fingers in between Dean’s. He gives a gentle tug and pulls Dean down the hall with him towards the bedroom.

For a moment, after the bedroom door closes, his confidence flickers. He wonders yet again if this if the right decision. If he’s not being too rash in jumping back in full force. He chews down on his lip and worries to himself for several seconds before he tells himself, _stop_.

This is right. He knows it is. He can feel it, in the warmth of Dean’s hand in his and the off-beat rhythm in his chest right now. 

Castiel takes a few quick steps to be back in Dean’s personal space, kissing along his jawline and allowing his hands to glide along his waist. He wishes Dean was freshly shaved, as Cas was used to seeing him, but he finds that the light brush of five o’clock isn’t entirely unwelcome. 

“Cas. Hold on a sec.”

He doesn’t want to stop, but he listens to Dean. He sighs and takes several step backwards until his knees knock back against Dean’s mattress and he 

Dean walks across the floor and stops in front of Cas. He reaches out a hand and cups the side of Castiel’s face in his hand. His eyes are shining in the darkness in a familiar way, and he speaks softly. “Not that I don’t wanna… you know, but we do need to talk here.”

Cas huffs out an annoyed breath. “Since when are you the grown up about all this?”

“Since right now,” replies Dean, shooting him down without so many words, “C’mon, Cas, talk to me.”

Castiel wants Dean to call him _baby_. He wants Dean to wrap him up in his arms and pull him down onto the bed. He wants to sink right exactly back into how it used to be, no apologies, no weirdness, no mention of the regrettable years that have passed them by in separation. 

In front of him, Dean sinks down onto his knees so that he’s just about eye level with Cas. He slides himself between Castiel’s knees and looks up with eyes that are wide open and nothing but honest. “I just need to know that you want this.” Everything about him is soft and easy, but make no mistake: Dean is pleading. “I need to know you’re not going away again.”

Something that feels like a mixture of pain and remorse fills Castiel to the brim. He sputters out as fast as he can, “I-I’m not. I mean it, I’m sure.” And then, because he isn’t sure what else to say, “I… I’m sorry.”

Dean remains calm at his knees. “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to be here, with me.”

“I will be.” Castiel finds it impossible to look anywhere other than Dean’s face right now. “I… I want to be with you.”

It doesn’t feel difficult to say. For all the time that Castiel spent tossing in his bed alone at night, spoiling himself with twisted fantasies of this very moment, it all comes out much easier then he would have imagined. 

And Dean seems to trust him. He rises to his feet, fingers brushing once more over Cas’ cheek. He leans in slowly and climbs onto the bed, forcing Castiel onto his back even before his lips take hold of Cas’. As he tumbles backward, Castiel pulls in a deep breath though his nose. He takes in happiness, and he breathes out all the bullshit. 

Here they are. In bed together, again. It’s wild to Castiel to think that so many years have passed and yet they end up in the same place. The bed’s changed, and so have they. But, in so many ways, they’re still just two crazy kids rubbing up against each on top of a blanket, hoping not to get caught. 

Castiel smiles into the kiss, feeling happiness unfurl throughout his body. He runs his fingers over the fabric of Dean’s shirt. It’s thin and worn, but soft and pleasing to the touch. He scoots himself further up onto the bed and pulls Dean up with him, not willing to let a minute pass without contact. 

Dean huffs and curses again, tucking in to the place just below Castiel’s jaw and showing it some serious attention. The sensation is incredible, enough that it jolts Castiel’s unerring sense of regret: he can’t help but focus on all the minutes and seconds that ticked by while he tried to convince himself that he didn’t want Dean. 

It’s difficult to do from his position on bottom, but Castiel turns his head to the side momentarily to signal that he needs a breath of air. Dean takes the hint, pushing himself back and perching himself over Castiel’s body while a bead of sweat trails over his forehead. 

One hand is firmly planted on Dean’s shoulder, the other wrapped around Dean’s upper arm. The t-shirt is thin and Castiel can feel every rippling muscles right below the material. 

And without any kind of warning whatsoever, he begins laughing uncontrollably. 

At first Dean shoots him a look, a raised-eyebrow kind of thing that maybe poses the question, are you alright? Then he himself starts laughing, but in a much smaller way, more like a nervous reaction. 

“Hey,” he prods at last, and it almost comes off as whiny from the way he voice sounds, “Hey. What is it? Why are you laughing?”

It is so, so hard to do, but Castiel manages to calm himself down long enough to explain himself. He curls his fingers over Dean’s biceps and allows his eyes to wander over his face, chest, and torso. _God damn._

He begins around another helpless fit of giggles. “God, you’re just- you’re so... hot.” 

Thinking back on all of the wasted energy, pretending that he didn’t want this. Cas has always considered himself to be a pretty smart guy-- but god, he had been so stupid. 

Another heady bit of laugher escapes him as his hands graze the curve of Dean’s shoulder. He spends a long moment taking in everything in front of him: Dean’s chest that seems so perfectly sculpted just for him, the firm line of his jaw, the intense green of his eyes, down to the very kissable tip of his nose. 

He is so sexy. So undeniably sexy. Castiel is incredibly aware in this moment of the fact that every other man he’s ever known, every single one, has paled in comparison to the man in front of him right now. 

Dean’s blushing from the compliment. He’s still perched above Castiel, strong arms holding him up, and he dips down with a cracked grin to lay a gentle kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmurs, shy and flirtatious. 

This, too, makes Castiel produce a string of delighted noises. The fact that this man, _this_ man, is somehow head-over-heels crazy for him is…. well, if he spent too much time thinking about he, he’d find some reason not to believe in it anymore. And he’s not going to waste any more time on that. 

Dean descends on Cas with a wicked spark in his eye, and presses his mouth against the skin of his collar bone. He sucks and bites while Castiel closes his eyes and reminds himself to try and be quiet.

The heat builds between them. Clothes are shed onto the floor. Beads of sweat form on Dean’s forehead and it’s all Castiel can do not to lay his tongue flat and lick up every drop. Is he normally this horny? No doubt his hormones are off the chart right now. 

The reminder of his pregnancy strikes Cas momentarily and as Dean slides down his body, moving to position himself at Castiel’s entrance, he raises a hand and whispers, soft but intense, “Wait.”

Dean stops himself mid-movement, his leaking cock waiting in his hand, and looks up. 

A sense of awkwardness floods into Castiel. He wishes that he could just skip over this. In a way, it’s his fault. If they hadn’t been apart, then they wouldn’t need to have this conversation. But as it is, they were. And so… 

Castiel chews on his lower lips and asks nervously, “Do we need to… I mean, did you…” He steadies himself. He’s a damn adult, he can do this. “Did you sleep with anyone else while we were apart?”

The words hit Dean like a freight train. The dark black pupils that had taken over his eyes start to dilate, and he pushes himself away from the mattress to add space between the two of them. 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t even…” 

He is mortified. Castiel, somehow, remains calm in the face of this. He can’t say that he didn’t expect this, or even that he’s hurt by it. Dean is an adult. He was single for long time. Of course there would be others. 

If anyone’s upset by the revelation, it’s Dean. “I-I… It was only a few people,” he vows fervently, sitting up onto his knees, “and I swear it didn’t mean anything. I never… and I always used a condom.”

“Dean…”

“I didn’t know… I wouldn’t do that to you, babe. I, you know, I was just… I was real fucked up for a while there and I... I just wanted someway to--”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts, perhaps a little more sharply than intended. Dean raises his head, his cheeks stained pink in frustration. “It’s alright. Of course, I understand.”

The deep sigh of relief Dean exhales almost makes Castiel want to smile. It’s adorable, watching him get so worked up, worrying what Castiel thinks about him. And Cas believes him when he says that he used protection with the others, which is great for them because that means--

“Did you?”

He looks up and finds Dean’s face, clear and pale in the moonlight that’s coming in through the window of his bedroom. The questions takes him by surprise, though he doesn’t know why. Of course Dean would ask that. He has every right to, and his curiosity’s probably been sparked.

It seems funny to Castiel because to him, the answer is so obvious. But he can see how, to Dean, it’s the complete opposite. For years they’d lived in two totally different areas of the country. Anything could have happened. Not to mention the incident outside his apartment when Dean came upon him and Balthazar…

The memory takes on a new meaning in its current context, and an uncomfortable cold spike run down Cas’ spine. 

Hovering above him, Dean is becoming more anxious, though it’s only just barely detectable. His time in the military taught him well how to hide emotion underneath the cool facade of a poker face. Another person would think him totally neutral in this moment. It is a testament to how well Cas knows this man that he can see the way anticipation is eating away at him. 

In the end, he answers with a simple shake of his head. 

Dean is dumbstruck by the response. He pretends not to be, but again, Cas knows him too well for that. 

“No one?” he asks in a whisper so delicate. 

This time Cas nods, slowly, and Dean’s mouth drops open as his eyes glaze over. He runs hand down Cas’ arm and looks him over as if he’s a precious thing, something Dean is truly honored to be in the presence of. 

He licks his lips and poses carefully, “So… I’m the only one who’s ever touched you?”

There’s something in the question that makes Castiel want to wriggle. Dean gets onto his hands and knees and begins to crawl his way slowly up to Cas’ face, his mouth grazing over the skin as he passes along the way.

“The only one who’s ever been inside you?” he presses, “Who’s ever made you come?”

By the time he ends up at Castiel’s face, the tips of their nose brushing softly against one another in that heated zone, all the air has been sucked from Cas’ chest. He’s painfully hard from the minimal amount of teasing, and there’s a twisting feeling in his lower abdomen that is so rife with arousal he feels like he’s slipping away in stages. 

Dean can’t seem to stand the tension either. He pounces on Castiel, claiming his mouth with a forceful passion that pulls Castiel in, forces moan after moan, light and breathy as he grips his fingers into Dean’s hair. He’s gone on words, unable to express anything other than noises of sheer pleasure; but Dean, never one to be quiet during sex, is there in his ear with an endless string of heated babbling. 

“I love you. Fuck, I…” 

Cas is so happy to be sober for this. Feeling Dean’s hands gripping his body, it brings him back to last time, on the couch, the relief and satisfaction he’d felt at being underneath Dean once again. Only now, it’s so much better. He’s in his mind and in his body. Fully present, ad without one ounce of regret. He can enjoy every second of this, the way he should.

Dean slides in slowly. His eyes lock on Castiel’s, holding his gaze steady, and when he bottoms out, his lips curl into a sick little smile at seeing the way Cas goes cross-eyed from the pleasure. 

He maintains that rhythm, drawing in and out at an achingly casual speed. Cas mewls and begs; He wants it faster and he wants it harder, but he also can’t deny that he loves the way this feels too. He's enjoying letting this moment stretch out for as long as they can keep it going.

It brings him unconceivable pleasure to know that Dean is taking his time, that he's relishing in every kiss and every stroke. Cas begs for him to ramp up the pace, but Dean only smiles back and nibbles on another piece on his skin. It's only after an inconceivable period of teasing that Dean finally kicks into gear. Castiel can feel the exact moment it happens, the second when Dean feels his release approaching and switches from those languid movements to the slamming thrusts that Cas needs. 

He comes before Dean does, just like last time, just as he often has when they tumble into bed together. It's so important to Dean to see the results of his work in Cas' face; he doesn't want to let himself go until he knows Cas has been satisfied. This time, it feels different though. It's more than just an orgasm when Dean slides his hand down between them and pumps Castiel until he spills all over himself. It's like the cementing action on their reunion. The truest seal on the deal. 

Cas is pretty damn okay with it. 

After Dean sputters to a halt and a warm sensation floods inside Castiel, his arms buckle momentarily before he collapses on top of him. His body completely envelops Cas, who can only stroke his fingers over the nape of Dean’s neck, panting. This feeling is so indescribably good. Dean’s forehead is sweaty and slippery where it touches his own, but Castiel is relishing every bit of contact between their bodies. He tilts his lips up, searching for Dean's, happy when the soft wetness of them find his own. 

Dean stops the kiss in a huff and moves his head south toward Cas' collarbone. A path of kisses marks the way from his shoulder, rounding down over his chest and nipples, and terminates at his belly button, where Dean fixes his navel with a firm stare and an unmistakable smile. 

“Hello, baby,” he whispers, so very soft. His fingers reach out to graze the nude skin of Cas' belly. There is such love in his eyes that it overwhelms Castiel, who peers down his body to watch the interaction, and feels  more certain about his decision that he ever has of anything in his life.

“Come back up here,” he encourages playfully, “I’m starting to feel jealous, all that attention that’s not going to me.”

Dean climbs up his body in a single, fluid movement, and dives in for another taste of Castiel. It’s wet and sloppy and very passionate, and Castiel feels entirely carefree as he moans quietly and thrusts up against Dean’s thigh. “I promise you,” Dean swears in between kisses, “for the rest… of your life… you will be… the only thing… my attention goes to.” He breaks their embrace long enough to rest his sweaty forehead against Castiel’s ad gaze into his eyes. “I mean it. It’s you and the kids. That’s all I need.”

It’s a sweet thought, if not a little improbable. Certainly there’s work, and there’s no world in which Dean doesn’t spend a good amount of his energy fretting over Sam and his duties insofar as being a big brother goes. But still. 

“Sounds good to me,” returns Cas, lips spread wide in a toothy grin, already leaning in for another heated kiss. His tummy feels all aflutter with butterflies and things of the sort. 

A good while passes like this, bodies shifting against one another beneath the sheets, the room silent except for the soft sounds of moans and laughter, and the slight breeze that gusts in through the open window across the room. Pregnancy sex is incredible, Castiel spends several moments asking himself how he could have possibly forgotten the sheer pleasure of having Dean inside him when his body is running wild with hormones. 

They’ve grown exhausted by the time Dean rolls off of Castiel and onto the mattress beside him. He doesn’t let an instant pass without touching Cas, quickly tucking himself up behind Cas’ body and pulling him in against himself. His deflated cock sits against Cas’ skin, and the warmth of the the touch is something Cas oddly adores. 

He takes comfort in the sounds of their breath, going in and out at nearly equal time. 

“Cas?”

“Mm?” he murmurs, eyes closed and nearing the point of total relaxation.

Dean doesn't say anything at first. He pauses for so long that Cas wonders if maybe he'd misheard, if Dean hadn't actually said his name.  

Finally, the words come, low and somber. “I… I’m sorry.”

A lump forms in Castiel’s throat. He turns over in Dean’s arms and asks, “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Dean’s eyes have dropped down to his chest, and his arms are slack around Castiel.  “I’m sorry for… how I was back then. I know… it couldn’t have been easy. I know I wasn’t a good husband, not at the end.” His voice is thick with things unsaid. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough for you, for you or Hannah.”

Cas' first instinct is to comfort. He wants to kiss Dean on the lips and tell him not to worry; tell him that it all worked out for the best and that they don't need to spend another second thinking about the past. But he can't do that. It would be cheap and dishonest, and he fears what it would lead to down the line if they start back up with half-truths like that right off the bat. 

“Why didn’t you try and stop us?”

The question is one he’s wondered to himself for a long time. When he decided to leave, after such a long time of wrestling with himself and giving his everything into a marriage that was crumbling too slowly to save, he was so set in his decision. But he's always asked himself... if Dean had put up a fight, had begged him not to go.... what would have happened? 

He imagines Dean’s been wondering that for a long time, too. 

Dean’s arms tighten around him once more. Both of them feel more comfortable this way. “Well… I guess it was probably a lot of stuff. You know, I was pretty… pretty fucked up from going over there, and it just, it made all my priorities jumble.”

“I could have helped you,” Cas offers gently, but he's shot down quickly by a distressed look from Dean. 

“No, you couldn’t have.”

“I could’ve tried.”

Dean shakes his head. He disagrees, but he doesn’t want to fight Cas on this.“But it wasn’t just that. I think it was also… you know, I always knew I didn’t deserve you.” 

Castiel tilts his head to the side and squints at Dean. What on earth is he talking about? 

“So, you know, it’s like I was living on borrowed time,” Dean adds, voice totally casual. “I got to somehow lock you down, have you all to myself for five years? That’s crazy lucky. So when you got the memo and realized what was going on, I just… I don’t know. I thought it was better not to fight it.”

Cas wriggles in closer, wrapping himself up in Dean, and pressing his face into the curve of his neck. “Dean, that’s…. that’s crazy.”

“No, it’s not,” comes the response, and Cas thinks he can hear a smile in Dean’s voice. “You’re still way outta my league. But I went and got you knocked up, twice, so now I get the chance to try and earn my keep.” He leans down and presses a kiss into Castiel’s hair. “Lucky me, huh?”

He sounds so earnest, and so honest that Cas is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what to say in response. For someone who is normally so skilled with words, it’s jarring to be so at a loss whenever he’s around Dean. 

Cas is the one who is lucky. Not only what with Dean looking the way he does- and Cas seriously has to wonder if Dean has spent any time lately looking at himself in the mirror, because if he had he would know that there is no one who is out of his league, that’s for damn sure. But he's tired. He's sexed-out and emotionally wiped, and he doesn't know what he can say to comfort Dean. 

He decides not to say anything at all. He wraps his arms around Dean's neck and nuzzles in close, rubbing his nose into the skin there.  He knows that Dean loves taking on the role of the provider, the protector. He hopes that if he can show Dean how much he needs protecting, it will show him that Cas need him. From the way that Dean's arm wrap around him more tightly, he has hope that it's working.

They lay in silence after that, listening only to the sounds of other's breathing in the empty room. Cas focuses in on and even rise and fall of Dean's chest. He thinks he could be very happy to stay here like this for quite a while. Just them, away from all the rest of the world. When tiredness starts to creep into his body and his eyes are slipping shut involuntarily, he suddenly remembers himself. 

“I should go,” he declares into the darkness of the room.

Dean doesn't move at first, which makes Castiel think maybe he hasn't hear him. He pulls his head back to look and see if he's fallen asleep, but instead he finds Dean with eyes open and his body gone stiff.  His mouth says nothing, but in his eyes it's easy to see where his mind is. Castiel leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek before he sits up and begins to search the floor for his clothing. 

“It’s better if I don’t stay over," he tells Dean, but the confidence of it comes off a little forced. "I don’t want her to wake up in the morning and see me and then get all confused…”

Dean sits up in bed with the sheet hanging off his lower half. He cocks a broken smile.  “No, you’re right.”

Cas slides on his pants without looking up to see the subdued hurt on Dean's face. After closing the last button on his shirt, Cas moves in close and places one hand on either side of Dean's jaw. He lays a big, fat kiss on his lips. “Don’t think that. We’re going to spend a lot of nights together in the future. I just want to wait until we’re on a little more solid footing before we tell her. Until we’ve got everything sorted out.”

“I get it," Dean sighs, with his shoulders slumped. He looks a little like a petulant, moody teenager, "I just… I’ve had my fill on nights without you.”

Cas' heart is warmed by his grumpiness. He goes in for another long kiss. “I will call you tomorrow. Okay?”

Dean exhales a long breath and nods his head. He takes Cas' promise at face value. There's trust there. And yet...  i t feels like there’s something else that needs to be said. Cas looks down at Dean, his hand in Cas’ own, and he feels something trying to leap off the tip of his tongue. 

Whatever it is, it’s trapped there. With a sigh, he leans down and presses his lips one more time onto Dean’s. He wants to take enough of Dean with him that he can make it through tomorrow without going insane. 

Dean offers to walk him out, but Cas declines. “Stay in bed,” he tells him, “dream of me.” 

"Like I don't already," Dean scoffs, like it's a joke, but Castiel grins because he knows that it's not. 

Cas closes the door behind him when he leaves, and tries not to think about the decided lack of pounding in his chest. The steady rate of his heart should serve as an example of how calm he is, but instead it makes him wonder what is lurking around the corner. 

For the first time in so long, the question of what comes next isn’t spinning around in his head. He’s not going to waste time and energy asking why. He's going to enjoy it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you find any mistakes, I was not into proofreading this for the one millionth time. 
> 
> As you might notice, it's looking like this story will wrap up in two or three chapters. I'm not sure if this one will require an epilogue. I want to say thanks who everyone who's sticking around and who voices their support. It really means a lot!


	12. Chapter 12

They decide to spend the following weekend together. It's a double-faceted plan, according to Cas. Something of a micro-honeymoon, a last opportunity to spend seventy-two consecutive hours in bed together without fear of being interrupted by a rambunctious seven-year-old (or, soon enough, a newborn)- while at the same time sure-ing up any last minute doubts about this rather surreptitious change in their relationship status. 

Dean drops Hannah off on Friday afternoon with Sam, who’s agreed to watch her that night and Saturday, and who will even be kind enough to then transfer her into Gabriel's custody on Sunday. Castiel figures that Gabe will be a relatively welcome audience when he and Dean show up to collect their daughter hand-in-hand on Monday afternoon. More so than Anna, to say the very least. Castiel fully expects Gabriel to clap his hands like a small child and squeal in delight.

But first, they have to get through the weekend. If all goes well, and he’s hoping it will go well, he’ll feel much more confident about bringing Hannah home and starting things up at a newly patched-up family unit. 

“Sort like of a test run, right?” Dean elbows Cas after he drops his overnight bag in the bedroom. “If I show you I’m housebroken, you’ll keep me.”

Cas rolls his eyes in response to the half-joke. Dean seems to insist on putting on this tough guy act to deflect from his emotions, despite the fact that Castiel can see right through it.

“That’s not at all what it’s like,” he says firmly, leaning back against the cool tile of the kitchen counter. 

What’s more, it bothers Castiel: this constant need to keep his guard up. He understands it, of course. Dean’s been hurt before; by him, specifically. It's painful to think about, but there's no way around it. But they're fixing that, they're moving past it. Cas just wishes Dean would trust him now enough to be honest. 

Dean throws him a rueful smile that just barely reaches his eyes while his leather jacket is shrugged off and thrown over the back of a chair. The sight of the loose grey t-shirt underneath, the way it hangs off Dean’s body, pleases Castiel immensely. Enough that he forgets any annoyance he might be feeling, and allows his eyes to run up and down Dean’s form. He doesn’t try to hide the lustful glint in his eye. 

He’s sure that Dean can see it too, from the smirk he’s wearing when he comes over to join Castiel beside the kitchen counter. He stops just beside Cas, their arms not exactly touching. Just close enough that the the hair’s of Dean’s forearm brush ever so slightly against Castiel’s, and he has to duck his head to hide the way it makes his whole face light up. 

“You’re being dramatic,” he tells Dean, pretending to be irritated. In reality, he wishes he could make every trace of doubt disappear from Dean’s mind. It’s his fault, he’s the one that put it there; and every time he sees a flash of melancholy in Dean’s eyes, it’s a reminder of the fact that he broke the heart that resides beneath that chiseled chest. 

Dean does a turn, in both body and spirit, going from self-deprecating to deflective and charming in a matter of seconds.“Mm,” he hums, drawing closer to Castiel and placing one arm on either side of his body, “I think you like it when I’m a little dramatic.”

Cas raises his eyes to level a look at Dean. “I do not.” Dean waggles his eyebrows playfully and Cas lays a hand on his chest to silence him. “I mean it, Dean. This isn't some kind of test you need to pass. I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you.”

He takes a deep breath. The words, the ones that sit on the tip of his tongue, have been lying there in wait for more than a week. He’s been holding onto them, keeping them safe, waiting until it was the right time to let them out. 

He’s also been scared shitless, which was another, perhaps truer, motive to play his cards close to the vest. 

But he’s ready now. Cas slides his hands up Dean’s chest, the firm muscles like hardwood under his t-shirt, and joins them together behind his neck. He searches the sparkling green of Dean’s irises for confidence, and drinks in what he can find there.  

“I love you.”

The first time he had said it to Dean had been twelve years before, and Castiel been so terrified that his lips were shaking before the words slipped out. The only thing that had outweighed the sheer terror of the moment, was the joy of the moment after, when Dean had looked at him like he couldn't believe his damn luck, to have this boy in his car, whispering love confessions like they were worth their weight in gold. 

Today Dean looks much the same. The sadness there in the green seems to fade; not completely, but significantly. His hands move from the counter to Castiel’s sides, and he doesn't even hesitate before he returns, “I love you, too.”

And then their lips float in towards one another, smoothly, fluid, like it’s no big thing at all. The kiss is short and sweet, but Castiel sighs into it happily, thinking to himself that this is just one of many future kisses and how very pleased that makes him feel, right down to his toes.

Confidence buoyed by another successful emotional admission, he presses himself slightly up against Dean and allows his voice to take on a more suggestive tone. “Now, I had this really great idea, and I think you’re going to like it.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, hot stuff.”

“I think…” he starts coquettishly, pulling himself up on to sit on the counter and letting his legs wrap around Dean’s hips, “that you should fuck me in every single room of this house. Starting with the kitchen.”

A low whistle comes from Dean, who places himself between Cas’ legs and begins to work his hands up and down his thighs. “This very kitchen?”

“This very one.”

From the wolfish tint in Dean’s eye when he goes in for Castiel’s neck, he feels quite sure that they’ll make good on that idea. 

They do start right there in the kitchen, Castiel propped up on the counter while a beam of early evening sunlight casts a warmth over him that mirrors the one inside. It's hot and sensual, and it's full of laughter. Castiel wouldn't have it any other way. Then they make their way over to the couch, followed by the upstairs hallway, which isn't planned but is so hot that Castiel will keep that image in his mind should any lonely nights arrive when Dean's away and he has to make do for himself. 

They carry on from Friday night right into Saturday, when they share a lazy shower quickie that leaves them more dirty than clean, and which Castiel hopes they can somehow manage to make a regular occurrence now that they'll be living in the same house. 

The bedroom is actually one of the last places they get to, which Castiel finds ironic but frankly doesn't have much time or energy to contemplate. 

The bed is big and soft and easy to sink his fingers into when the pleasure of Dean’s touch starts to overwhelm him. He’s never thought before about how much better this bed would feel with two bodies in it, instead of one. It feels foolish now, having left it half-empty for so long.  

“You feelin’ satisfied, baby?” 

Dean’s words are slurred against the temple of Cas’ head, where he presses his lips to the warm, misty skin. Cas is panting, aching from the physical exertion, and from the desperate neediness he feels to be touching some part of Dean at all times.  

“Oh God,” he closes his eyes tight, “I don’t… I’m just so… You’re really...” 

Dean chuckles in that effortlessly sexy way that makes Cas feel like he could instantly go for round five. He kisses Cas’ sweat-drenched mess of hair again and wraps his arms a little more tightly around his shoulders. “Maybe time for a snack break, hm? Let me go get you some water.”

He begins to climb out of the bed, but the whine Castiel makes the second they separate has him turning back around. He raises his eyebrows suspiciously, as if questioning whether Castiel is putting on a show for his benefit. The earnestness must read in Castiel’s face, because the look on his own changes rather quickly into some quite shy and rather pleased with himself.  

Cas disconnects just long enough to throw on a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants. While he’s searching through his dresser drawers, his reflection from the mirror in front of him catches the corner of his eye. If his brain weren’t so fogged up with post-coital bliss he’d probably have let out an audible gasp at the sight of himself: he’s a mess. Completely debauched, with lips swollen from endless kisses and his hair sticking up every which way. 

He leans in closer to inspect the situation. He lifts one hands to his head and slides it through the wet strands of hair- a hopeless gesture- when his fingers are met halfway through by a rogue set of five, a bit stronger than his own. Castiel blinks at the mirror, where he now notices Dean’s reflection standing just behind his, wearing the smug grin of a man who’s proud of his work. 

It makes Castiel smile to see Dean smile, and he’s just about to turn around and think of some kind of teasing remark, when Dean’s hand moves quickly from Cas’ hair down to his pants and pokes one finger into a hole ripped into the seam.

“Can’t even put on your good pajamas for me, huh?” he prods as the playful glint in his eye grows even larger. 

Castiel tries to keep a serious tone, but fails miserably. “Please,” he scoffs, “If you don’t want me in my ratty, torn pajamas, then you can’t have me-”

Before he can finish the thought, Dean interrupts by telling him, “I always want you.” 

The words are so frighteningly sincere that it leaves Castiel unable to think of a response. The air between them crackles with things unsaid, but Cas can’t decide which ones he needs. 

“Even when I’m... big and round like a beach ball?” he mumbles at last, hoping to inject a little lightness into the conversation. 

“ _Especially_ when you’re a beach ball.” Dean grabs for his hand and starts pulling Castiel out of the room. “C’mon, let’s go settle in and relax a bit.”

They move down to the living room and install themselves side by side on the couch. Castiel begrudgingly allows a few inches of space between his torso and Dean’s- the heat of contact skin-to-skin contact can be overwhelming after so long, no matter how much he might want it. 

His left hand lies beside him on the couch, just next to Dean’s right one, the two only connected by gentle touch of the pinkie fingers. They’ve put on some movie, Dean’s choice, but Castiel is mostly just using the time to sit and be calm, to let his mind be clear. 

Every so often, though, his attention is drawn away from himself and down to where their hands lay on the sofa. Dean’s is palm-up, and there’s a slight twitch in his fingers; as if his palm in itchy and he doesn’t want to scratch.  Castiel slowly guides his eyes upward so that he can sneak a look at Dean’s face. Sure enough, he catches Dean’s gaze flickering from the television screen down to where their hands lays nearly-connected. 

Castiel is vexed by this. Is Dean nervous? Is he nervous… of holding Castiel’s hand?

The idea of it is so delightfully adolescent that it fills Castiel’s stomach with unfettered glee. He’s no longer a nearly-30-year-old maybe un-divorced man with a child in second grade. No, in his heart, he feels exactly like the sixteen-year-old boy who's in the middle of discovering his sexuality and all he wants in the world is for the cute boy from the summer camp to kiss him.

He reaches over and easily slides his fingers between Dean’s, and turns to him with a look that he hopes will be soft and encouraging and tells Dean all the words that still feel trapped inside his head. Dean looks over and cracks a smile, and it’s a good one. On anyone else, it would work. 

But not on Castiel. He can see, underneath the long eyelashes and behind the hopeful tint in the green, something small and scared. It makes his heart cringe painfully. He wants to push that away, to drive the fear away from Dean's mind and replace them with love and confidence and all the things that used to be there when they were young and stupid and recklessly in love.  

He wants to kiss away every bad thought before it can even land. So he does. He leans over suddenly and grabs hold of Dean's chin, pulling him in towards his own lips, pressing them together just in time to stifle something that sounds like a gasp from Dean. 

Cas unlocks their fingers from one another so he can place one hand on each of Dean's shoulders while he swings his leg over Dean's. He settles in, letting his hips circle and grind until he finds a good spot to rest his weight, where he can press himself up against Dean and feel the pressure of a hard line forming against his thigh from inside his jeans. 

“You got a real thing for this couch, don’t you?” mutters Dean against his lips. His hand moves up to Castiel's hips, and there's significantly more confidence in his grip when he presses his fingers into the skin, pulling Castiel down to rut against him. 

It's important, this kind of sureness in their movements. When they're like this, it means that they can be playful, like they're starting anew. Every time there's trepidation, it feels as if they're carrying a weight from the past, one they'll never be able to shake. 

Castiel prefers the playful. “Yes, I do,” he bites back when he manages to tear his mouth away from Dean’s for a moment, “do you know why?”

Dean’s response isn’t so much a word as it is a grunt, as he shifts his hips to allow a more perfect angle between Castiel’s crotch and his. Cas explains, “Because if this couch were not as incredibly comfortable as it is,” he pauses to dip his lips down into the crevice of his lover’s neck, “I wouldn’t have fallen asleep that night. And if I hadn’t been half-asleep when you shook me,” he takes Dean’s earlobes in between his teeth and gives it a teasing nibble, “I wouldn’t have been nearly brave enough to kiss you.” 

Dean sucks in a harsh breath of air. Whether from Cas’ ministrations or the information he’s revealing, it’s unclear.

“Remind me to write a thank-you note to Ikea, then.”

Castiel starts to huff out a raspy laugh, but Dean's mouth is on his before he can let it out.

The ease of this, of all this, it surprises him every minute. At every turn, he expects his anxiety to pop back, for some old resentment to make itself known and bring all this crashing down. But.. it hasn’t. And the more times Dean’s easy smile produces one from Cas in kind… it has him thinking that maybe they can get away with this.

He continues to smile as Dean guides him gently onto his back and climbs on top of him for an unhurried make-out session. As incredible as a forty-eight-hour sex marathon is- and truly, it is incredible, do not disbelieve that- Castiel finds it really nice to also be able to enjoy each other, physically, without any sort of end goal in sight. They can lie together 

Time passes in a mysterious way when Castiel is in Dean's presence. It's slow, but not nearly slow enough. He'd like for this afternoon to stretch out into infinity, to make up for the time he's wasted, things he's missed in Dean's life. The movie ends at some point, neither of them paying attention. Cas only notices a change in background sound after a long while has rolled past, and he sits up suddenly to reorient himself to his surroundings.

“But…”

Dean has readjusted his position as well. He's sitting behind Castiel, and his shoulders have slumped again. 

Cas turns his head to look over his shoulder but doesn't move his body. “But what?” he prompts Dean softly. 

“You know, regardless of your living room furniture,” says Dean, cutting it with a self-deprecating chuckle, “you still think it would have happened anyway… right?” He stares off across the room with a stark innocence about him, and clarifies, “You and me, again?”

Honestly, Castiel doesn’t have any clue if that’s true. For so long, he'd been  riddled with self-doubt and second thoughts every time he even looked at Dean. And if _he_ had been planning to make a move on Cas at any point, Castiel certainly hadn’t been aware of it. 

But the vulnerable look in Dean’s eyes is so wildly endearing, and it sets off that instinct in Castiel that makes his sole purpose in the world to make this man feel good and protected. He squeezes the hand that’s holding his and answers with integrity, “Of course. Of course, we would have.”

The look of relief that floods Dean’s face is sign enough of a job well done for Castiel. The vibe in the room goes gooey and romantic once more, no more tension left behind. He wiggles himself under Dean’s arms and closes his eyes, ready to maybe let the comfort of his couch lull him into another peaceful sleep.

Until the faint sound of a polyphonic ringtone comes echoing down the hall. “Crap,” he groans, eyes fluttering open. “I have to find my phone.” 

He slips easily (if grumpily) out of Dean’s arm and stands to his feet, stretching out his arms and taking a bit of sick pleasure in the popping sounds that spring from his joints. 

_Jesus, I really am getting old,_ he muses to himself as he turns out of the living room into the hallway.  

The cellphone continues its annoying cry for attention, and Castiel frowns as he realizes that he is at a total loss for where he might have left it. It’s possible that it’s the pants he was wearing last night… though he doesn’t have the slightest clue where those might have ended up after being ripped off in the heat of the moment.

Another pleased smile plays on his lips. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever been so purposefully insouciant as he has been this weekend. It feels good to feel young again. He wouldn't say he has in quite some time. 

The phone is eventually found lying on the kitchen counter. He grabs for it and holds it up to inspect the caller ID. Instantly, a wary feeling starts circling around in his gut. He slides open the phone and picks up with a terse, "Hello?"

“I got some bad news bears for ya,” Gabriel’s voice comes in over the line, “I can’t watch the kid tomorrow.”

Castiel closes his eyes and exhales a long breath. This is exactly what he’d been afraid of. “Gabe--”

“It’s not my fault! Something came up.” Castiel can practically hear the salacious wiggle in his eyebrows when he tacks on, “Something of an _adult_ nature.”

Cas does not, by any means, want to hear any further explanation on that. 

“Okay…" He leans over the counter in front of him. He really didn't want to do this, but... "I-I guess I’ll ask Anna.”

“Actually,” Gabe supplies, “excellent big brother that I am, I did you the favor. She’s cool with it.”

While cool she may be with taking Hannah for the evening, Castiel imagines her reaction will be rather different when he shoes up hand-in-hand with Dean at her doorstep. He doesn't want the first reaction to this exciting change to be... well, at best, reserved; at worst, outright negative.Maybe they ought to change their big reveal plan. He’ll have to think back on that later. 

Cas grumbles, “If you were an excellent big brother, you’d just watch her like you promised.” Why is he the only member of his immediate family who is capable of fulfilling a time commitment?  

“Listen, Cassie. If you saw this girl that I’m talkin’ about, even you'd think about battin' for the home team, I mean really just--”

“I’m hanging up now!” Cas cuts him off before it’s too late. He doesn't want to hear his brother wolf-whistling, or worse, over some floozy. “Thank you very much, Gabriel.”

The second he swipes the end the call, he mutters to himself, “Thanks for nothing.” He leaves the phone on the counter and shuffles back into the living room, his shoulders involuntarily slumping.

Dean sits up the minute he re-enters the room, lifting his arm to allow Cas to slide back into place underneath him. “Gabe cancelled?” he asks with a grimace. 

Cas sidles up tight against him, lays his head against Dean's neck and takes a long inhale of his comforting scent. "Ugh, yes."

Dean's hand fall onto Cas's shoulder. His fingers ghost up and down the flesh of his upper arm, just barely making contact.  "So... Anna then?"

"Mm," mumbles Castiel. He'd rather not think about it right now. _Too comfy. Want to cuddle._  

A few seconds tick by during which Cas has to wonder what is going on inside Dean’s head. He presses in his chin into Dean's collarbone, hoping it will prompt an answer. Finally, Dean's fingers pause their delicate stroking and he says aloud, “I know that I’m a veteran of war and everything- and don’t get me wrong I’ve seen some scary shit… but your little sister can really scare the pants off of me, I'll be honest with you."

Castiel chuckles warmly, though he knows there's some degree of truth in there. He can't blame Dean, Anna can be fairly intimidating. But ever since Thanksgiving, Castiel has been ruminating on something, and he's come to a conclusion that he believes makes a good amount of sense. He lifts his head so that his mouth is near Dean's ear and he asks, "You know why she's so mean to you?"

Dean scoffs harshly. "Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea." Cas raises his eyebrows, asking him to go on. Dean sighs petulantly and turns away. "I was an asshole, Cas. Selfish and shitty. Someone treated my brother like that, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves, too."

While that's not strictly untrue, it's not what Cas was going for. The point of this weekend isn't an extended guilt trip for Dean; or for Castiel, for that matter. 

Cas shakes his head, the corners of his lips curling upward so that Dean knows. "No, that's not it. I've got a hypothesis."

He can hear the way Dean's eyes roll when he says, "Well, I fuckin' love a good hypothesis." 

So, Cas tells him. "I think that... when Anna was younger, she was so enamored of you. Maybe in a big-brother-in-law kind of way, or maybe... maybe she was a little in love with you." Dean barks out a gruff laugh. Castiel runs his hand up the back of Dean's neck and scratches at his scalp. "You laugh, but it's true. There was no one she looked up to more than you. And she was... what, fourteen when we got together? And you'd drive up to our house with your classic car and your leather jacket and your All-American boy charm."

Dean blushes at that, keens into Castiel's touch. The delightful pink in his cheek could be distractingly adorable, but somehow Cas manages. " So I guess... maybe when you went away, she was... disappointed. She was hurt." 

"Even if it wasn't all your fault," he's quick to add on, so that Dean knows there's no residual bitterness. 

Dean doesn't seem to need the reminder. He's already curling his body in around Cas', in a comfortable, familiar way, like a much-loved pillow. "No, I get that. I mean, I don't know if you knew how pissed Sam was at me when we split up. He kept railin' on and on at me about how I was an idiot to let you go.... like I didn't already know that."

He says the last part with a touch of tenderness and a kiss pressed into Castiel's hair. It's sweet and flattering. 

Equally flattering, in the weirdest of all ways, is hearing that Sam had said things like that when he and Dean had called it quits. He's always cared for Sam, even before- and after- he and Dean had been together. And he valued his opinion. Sam is a great guy: kind and intelligent and with such a capacity for good. The idea of Sam's opinion of him plummeting was something that really prickled at him during their separation. 

So it's somewhat bolstering to know that Sam had been, in a sense, Team Cas. But still, he feels guilty that Dean's seemed to be made out to be the bad guy in all this. Even though it was _him_ who left, who started the divorce process.

"Well I'm sorry that you bore the brunt of everyone's initial anger," he says, laying a kiss onto Dean's jawline, and another on his nose. "And I'm sorry that you've had to keep this whole thing from him for a whole week, I know how impossible it is for you to keep a secret from Sam."

Castiel is looking right at Dean, so there's no way to cover the spluttering motion that passes over his face. Still, Dean tries to gloss over it and mutter out a simple, "Yeah. Super hard.”

Now, Cas' brows furrow at that. Dean's fingers, where they rest on his arm, have gone stiff, and it only takes a matter of seconds before he realizes. 

“You told Sam, didn’t you?”

The answering gape is enough to convince him. 

And, really, he should have known better. For someone who claims to be able to read Dean Winchester like the back of his hand, why on Earth would he think that he could keep any important information from Sam?

It wasn't like it was Cas' rule. They had decided together that it made sense to hold off on telling everyone, to wait just a little bit longer, just to be safe. That it was Hannah who they wanted to share the news with first. 

Before he can say anything, Dean's hands are gripping him tight once more. His eyes beg forgiveness as his mouth starts, "I mean, come on. What did you expect? The love of my life gives me another shot and I'm supposed to keep that from my baby brother? Impossible."

The words give Castiel pause. He knows good and well the level of his emotion for Dean, and the fact that it is reciprocated on a equivalent scale. He is aware of that. But there is something about hearing yourself describe as the 'love of my life', by somebody who makes your skin crawl with desire and affection and all things good-- it is something else.

While he's frozen in thought, Dean takes the opportunity to continue on in his praise. He lines his mouth up against the shell of Castiel's hear and whispers hotly, "Besides, you are way too gorgeous to keep hidden from anyone."

A shiver runs down Castiel's spine. Yeah, he's weak. But that is impossible to resist. 

"Okay, I'm not mad," he concedes, eyes fluttering closed while Dean's hot breath stays on his ear, "but only because I'm too being busy flattered."

Dean then chooses to make it his mission for the evening to go on flattering Cas, whether it's with his voice or with his hands, and they end up a mess of giggles and kisses on the couch, and Cas wonders how there could be any room for doubt in his mind as far as Dean is concerned.  

That night, as they lay wrapped around each other in bed, Dean and Castiel let every answer out into the open. Anything they wondered, from the past three years- or even before- it’s all fair game tonight.

“It’s better to move forward with a clean slate,” is what Cas says. But really, he thinks his motives lie in the fact that he takes a giddy kind of pleasure in being able to learn new things about Dean, even after all this time and all their mistakes. It's like a first date, with someone he's already in love with. How many people can say they've had that?

“Do you still sing bad impressions of old rock stars while you cook?” is the first thing he wants to know.

"Are you still addicted to peanut butter and jellys?" Dean asks excitedly. 

He learns that Dean had gotten a tattoo during their separation (he doesn’t know how he missed that) and that he’d taken up guitar as a way to pass the time when darkness threatened to overtake him completely. Castiel is excited to tell him all about the courses he took when he was putting himself through school, and goes into maybe too much detail about the topic of his thesis, which is complicated and maybe even boring, but Dean listens with rapt attention like he’s watching his favorite sports team play. 

Both of them have an air of vague happiness about them. It’s funny, to be here with each other, but they’re so glad that they are. So, so very content. In this bed, with its soft sheets and its warm blanket; and most importantly, each other. 

But there’s a hint of regret there, behind every smile. A nagging thought, perhaps, about what could have been. 

“Would you have done it any differently?” 

Cas poses it as a genuine question. He himself isn’t sure of the answer. It’s been a long, emotional road just to end up essentially where they started.  What if they had waited a little longer to get married? Until they were older, wiser, more sure of themselves. Would they still be together now? 

Or what if Dean had decided to take his out when he could have initially; to leave the army and come back into his family, the way they'd planned together? 

Castiel wonders what it could have been like if he could have had a partner for the past three years, in all his struggles through school and parenthood? If that partner could have been Dean? 

Maybe he could have tried harder. _Til death do you part_ , that was the vow he'd taken, wasn't it? _For better or worse_. 

Silence persists between them for so long that Cas wonders if maybe Dean has already drifted off to sleep, and that maybe he should do the same. 

“I don’t know,” comes the response at last. The words echo in the darkness of the room. There’s no edge to them; he seems to be just as uncertain as Castiel about this. “I don’t know if it’s worth thinking like that, y’know? You said it yourself, we made choices. We can’t unmake them now.”

His arms wrap around Castiel, who gladly accepts the physical presence. His hands go to rest on Dean’s and pull himself in even closer. He says with a sigh, “Yeah… I know. It would have been nice, though… I keep thinking of those old videos. We were really happy.”

“We stopped taking videos for a reason.” 

He’s right. Castiel can see even through his rose-colored glasses that the only reason they can even stand to be around each other is because of that fact that they've had time and space away from one another. Time to grow and think on their own.

But… there’s something about Dean being the voice of reason for once, something in the absence of reckless hopefulness in his voice… it makes Cas’ heart wince. It's a marker of the way time has passed. Twelve years ago, five years ago: Dean was all emotion. Except for a few tearful exceptions, Cas has always had the level head between the two of them. 

But Dean's grown up now. Cas can see it from the stubble on his cheeks to the serenity on his face. No matter how often Castiel might feel like a teenager in his presence, there's no denying it. This man sitting in front of him... is a man. A grown man, and a good father and a damn fine specimen. 

“I think… I think I wouldn’t do it any differently." 

Dean is perched up on his forearm, and the way he's peering down over Cas is just threatening enough that is makes a ball of dangerous arousal sit low in Cas' belly. He ignores it so that he can continue his point; plenty of time for that later on.   

"You know, if we had waited to get married, then we wouldn't have Hannah. And if I had stayed, I just would have rotted away.” He sees the way Dean’s eyes dull at that, but it’s the truth, and like he's already said: clean slate. He pushes himself up to match Dean's posture, excitement building in his voice. “Now... I have a job, a career that really means something to me. I-I’m my own person. I have my own interests and opinions, and I’m raising our daughter in a way I’m proud of.” He closes his eyes and inhales a breath of air.“Every step I’ve taken since Texas has brought me here, made me into this person. And I think… this person, me now, is so much more ready to be married.”

In all their years of being together, Castiel thinks this might be the most painfully honest he's been with Dean. In a way that isn't cute or fun, but that actually makes him feel quite scared. Vulnerable. Afraid, of how Dean might react to this declaration of truth. Maybe he thinks Castiel is selfish to say it. Maybe he's having a wound re-opened, salted and burned over and over again in front of his eyes?

The teenage boy in him tells him to roll over and close his eyes, pretend to be asleep and let Dean come to him if he wants. But, of course, he knows that won't work. 

So, he forces himself to look up and see for himself what Dean has to say. He raises his chin and stares up at the man who's had his heart for years, and hopes for the best. 

Dean's mouth hangs slack while his eyes are wide and shining. "I... same. I don't know how to say it. I'm not glad you left. I'm not happy that we're divorced. But I think you're right in the way that... it was all leading back here. For me, anyway. I always knew it was you that I wanted it." He inhales a deep breath and then exhales.  "Even if it was only peripherally... I wanted you in my life."

Cas lies his head on the center of Dean's chest. "Well, you've got me," he mutters softly into the air, "Front row and center."

He feels the rough skin of Dean's fingers rubbing over his neck and scalp. He hums happily at the touch, feeling more at ease every second. 

"For good this time."

It might just be that he's too tired, or too happy, but Castiel doesn't think he hears nearly as much doubt in Dean's voice as he'd been hearing for the last week. He'll take that as a small win. He hopes that one day, maybe soon, he won't need to reassure Dean quite so much. That the trust they've lost will come back, and things between them will be as easy and carefree as they ever were. 

But for now he tucks his head in to Dean's neck, ready to fall asleep, and makes one more promise. "For good," he says, pressing his lips against his lover's chest, and closing his eyes so that he can drift off, right there where he should be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting so close to the end!!!


	13. Chapter 13

When Castiel awakes on Monday morning, there’s a mixture of emotions that fill his stomach. On the list are: content, comfortable, nervous, excited, and sad. The sadness isn’t poignant, like pain or nerves, but there’s a certain ebbing disappointment that their weekend together has come to an end. 

Then he thinks of Hannah. He imagines her face this afternoon, when they pick her up together. He remembers how happy she was on Thanksgiving, seated between her two fathers playing at the best idea of a family she could probably remember; how that will be amplified by ten times when they can finally bring her in on their secret, tell her that there won’t be any more weekend shuffling or holidays split down the middle. That Daddy is coming home to stay. 

The specks of trepidation in his stomach wash away when he pictures her eyes darting back and forth between him and Dean, her running up into his arms and squealing with delight. 

He rolls over with a sigh, taking a second to look out the window. It’s just barely light out, still early. 

A hand curls over his hip bones. The brush of warmth pulls his attention back to the present and his eyes over his shoulder, where he finds Dean already awake and gazing up at him with a look he wouldn’t mind seeing every morning. 

“Mm, who’s idea was it to make a long weekend out of this?” he’s asking with his gruff morning voice that makes Castiel’s gut rumble with desire. 

Cas presses into the embrace, squeezes Dean’s arm tight around him. “I can’t remember. It was a good one, though.”

“Real good.” Dean’s nose presses into the bottom of Cas’ hairline, where he presses a gentle kiss. “I need to rest my body. You’re wearin’ me out over here.”

Cas feigns sympathy, letting his lips curl downward as he rolls over to face Dean. “Aw,” he coos, “I’m so sorry. So if I said that I wanted to climb on top of you,” he swings a leg over Dean’s slowly, taking the time to let their thighs rub in a way that just bordered on obscene, “and ride you until the sun came up, you would be opposed to that?”

A low grown escapes Dean’s lips as his eyes roll back into his head. “You’re not being fair,” he whispers a minute later, “You know that I can’t say no to you.”

“Yes,” Cas smiles a toothy grin as he leans down for a kiss, “I do know that.”

He hooks a hand around Dean’s neck and pulls him in, mewling happily as Dean sets his teeth into the skin of his neck, nibbling on the skin there without a care of how loudly it makes Cas squeal or the swiftness with which the attraction between them grows. 

His lips move down Cas’ body, gracing their way over muscles until he stops eye-level with Castiel’s navel. He noses at the skin there, soft and easy; like he had to Castiel’s neck, but somehow different. 

“I can’t wait to see you pregnant again.”

Cas props himself up on one elbow and gazes down his body curiously. Dean’s eyes are focused purely on his belly, not flickering away for a second. 

“Can’t wait to see you grow and change,” he runs a hand over the expanse of Castiel’s stomach and his expression takes on an impish quality, “get all big and fat and happy.”

“There’s no reason to go throwing words like _fat_ around,” responds Cas, a little sensitive.

“No,” Dean says pointedly, pressing a kiss to the side of his ribcage, “I mean fat. I want you to lay around and eat bonbons while I do everything else.”

A line of kisses continues after the first, circling its way up and down Cas’ middle, from his nipple down to his pubic area. It tickles, but he doesn’t laugh. He can tell that playful isn’t exactly what Dean is going for right now.

It’s clear in his eyes: the flecks of gold shining with a kind of reflection. He’s here, but his mind is somewhere else. Castiel can wage a guess as to what (or when) he’s thinking of. 

“I missed so much last time,” Dean says at last, the side of his mouth twitching into a rueful smile, “I just want to be able to make up for it now.”

There’s no use denying that it isn’t true. Castiel was there. He was present for every moment Dean missed out on: every appointment, every feeding. God, the hospital room where she came into the world and her first days at home, it was all him. All alone. 

He can’t say it’s easy not to feel resentful about it. But time has passed and wounds have healed. Their little girl has grown up and is on the path to becoming a wonderful little lady. It’s hard to think of Dean now as anything other than a great dad.

Hard to look at him and feel anything other than an overwhelming wave of love. 

Castiel lifts his hips suggestively and offers in a sexy voice, “Well, feel free to get started now.”

And Dean, for once not feeling self-conscious or dragging himself over the coals, does. He climbs his way slowly up Castiel’s body and when he reaches his face, he dives down and takes control over his mouth in a way that has Castiel at full-mast so much more quickly than he thinks a man of his advanced years should be able. 

Cas, in return, slides his palm down Dean’s body and moves to grab as his hand, so that he can place it on his firmly right on his meat of his own ass. He’s so lost to it, to this kiss and the friction of Dean’s leg hair on his thigh, that he doesn’t notice it at first. A cold touch of metal. It stops him, and he yanks the hand suddenly up to his face for inspection. 

“I…” 

The shining gold band stares at him now, demanding attention. It asks a question he hadn’t expected to need an answer to. Behind the hand, Dean is blushing a furious shade of red. 

“When did you put this on?” 

It must have been recently. Cas has a mad moment where he wonders if Dean had always worn the ring, had kept it in place hopefully for the last three years-- but no, that couldn’t be true. Castiel would have noticed before. Wouldn’t he?

He moves the hand out of the way to look Dean square in the face. His skin is the most glorious shade of magenta, and an impulsive part of Cas wants to fast-forward through his conversation so that he can press his lips to the color there and absorb some of the heat it’s giving off. But he can’t. This is important, he knows it is. It’s one of the many, many conversation that need to be had if they’re going to have a more healthy relationship this time around. 

“Friday,” Dean coughs out just before his face starts to match the color of a fire hydrant. 

Castiel continues to stare at the thin sliver of metal. So delicate, against the ruggedness of Dean’s thick fingers. He can feel eyes boring into the side of his face, and some distant part of him is telling him to speak, clarify, so that Dean doesn’t think he’s freaking out or changing his mind. 

But it’s so hard to speak. This one tiny little ring has rendered him speechless. It’s a living, breathing reminder of their marriage. The one they broke. The one they’d gone into with such high hopes. The one that made him move across the country, that gave him the daughter he loves so much, that had completely changed the curse of his life from the one he used to picture. 

It’s the obvious next step. He’s spent enough time thinking about it, they’ve had enough discussions. Castiel knows that he wants to wake up next to Dean every day for the rest of his life, until he doesn’t ever wake up again. But looking at it now, back in its rightful place, it just reminds him that he’d had the same sense of certainty the first time around, too. 

“Is it… too much?” Dean asks in a quiet voice, trying to pull his hand back in. “I wasn’t sure… I can take it off.”

“No.” Cas’ answer is clear, definite. “No, not at all, just…. hold on.”

He releases Dean’s hand and rolls over, hanging halfway off the bed in a rather ungraceful manner. The sound of a drawer being opened and rifled through follows shortly after. 

When he emerges, he’s got his own ring on his finger. 

Dean does a terrible job at trying to suppress a touched smile. “You kept it next to your bed?” he inquires, bearing his teeth in a wide, pleased grin. He might as well be asking if he’d kept it in his heart for how significant he makes it sound. 

Or maybe it is significant. Maybe Castiel kept it close so that it could keep him calm. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to pack it up in a box and shove it into some forgotten corner.”

Dean grabs at Castiel’s right hand and and pulls it to his lips. The ring offsets the golden tones in his eyes, and Cas wishes he he could commission a painting of this very moment in his life.

“Maybe you knew would need it again,” Dean says with a wink. Castiel likes the idea. 

“Maybe,” he answers in a way that says both very little and a whole lot.

Dean kisses the fourth finger of his hand one more time and then lets it drop. He lies his head back on the pillow and lets his eyes flicker shut. He’s content, more than Castiel has seen him in a very long time.

There is something basic in Castiel, the Castiel of twenty-eight years as well as the Castiel of nineteen, that is soothed to the very core by the sight of Dean comfortable, well-loved and taken care of. He supposes that it’s an extension of the part of him that's nurturing, the part that also takes such fulfillment from his role as a parent. And even though he's glad that he has other things going on for himself- that he's not _just_ a husband, or _just_ a father- he still garners immense satisfaction from seeing those around him happy. 

In any case, their time is short. Back to business. 

“Weren’t you in the middle of something just then?” He scratches his nails gently over Dean’s chest. Up goes Dean, animalistic in his swiftness, and also in the revived hunger in his eyes as he pushes Castiel onto his back and sets his teeth into the lobe of his ear,all to the soundtrack of Castiel’s satisfied laughter. 

They fall back asleep in post-coital bliss, coiled around each other like a couple of physically-exhausted serpents. It’s the sound of a text message alert that brings Castiel back to life, while Dean’s still conked out with a little bit of spit dripping endearingly from his mouth. 

Cas leans over the bed and sticks a hand out toward the dresser. 

He finds two messages from Pamela waiting for him. The first one asks if he’s coming into the office that day, which he finds odd because he so clearly the remembers the conversation he had with her about why he would be taking a personal day on Monday. (“Marathon sex,” she’s concluded poetically. Castiel had tried to clarify that it was more about working through his and Dean’s past emotional trauma to become a more solid foundation for their family together. Pam had rolled her eyes, tossed out a grotesque impersonation of a wink, and then repeated in a whisper, “Marathon sex.”)

The second message told him that she thought it would be a good idea for him to stop by at some point. Castiel reads the words twice and frowns at his phone screen. He doesn’t want to come in, doesn’t want to be away from Dean- that was the entire point of using one of his few days off on this particular day. But there’s an air about the message that leaves him with an ominous feeling, one he doesn’t care for. 

Dean groans behind him and rolls his body over, tugging the blankets forcefully as he goes. Cas turns to look at him and then back to his phone. He could conceivably sneak away, just for a bit. This could be something important, after all, and he’d be remiss to set himself even further back in his career just because he was too sex-crazed to get out of bed.

Just as he resigns himself with a sigh to set about looking for his pants, his cellphone starts to vibrate insistently, announcing an incoming call. He looks down at the screen and swallows; slides his finger over the screen and places it to his ear. 

“Castiel?” 

The curtness that cuts through a typically polite and formal greeting isn’t lost on Castiel.

“Yes, Balthazar,” he answers, unsure what else to say, “I’m here.”

His skin prickles with the memory of their last meeting. Balthazar’s unwelcome hands and the curious, hard look in his eye. The smell of liquor on his tongue and cheesy saxophone music playing in the background. 

“Where are you?” Balthazar continues breezily, “I need you to come in today. We have some things to discuss.”

There’s movement on the bed behind him, he casts a glance over his shoulder and sees Dean gazing up at him curiously. Is the tension obvious? He’d rather not bring this up to Dean- not now, anyway, not this morning. 

Cas readjusts the phone into his other hand. “I… I’m taking a personal day today. I have a lot of--”

“Castiel,” he is interrupted, “I think that you like working here at the Post. If you’ve an interest in maintaining your employment, I suggest that you do as your supervisor tells you, and in a timely manner.”

Castiel has to remind himself to blink. His brain is still flooded with chemicals from his release by Dean’s hand, and the gravity with which he’s being spoken to now is such a steep downturn that it seems like he might still be asleep and dreaming. It's like he's jumped from a hot tub into an icy lake, and the different between the two is a shock to his system.

Finally, he clears his throat.“Okay. I’ll be there. Soon.”

“Jolly.”

The line cuts off suddenly, and Castiel moves the phone away from his ear a second later, already wanting to distance himself from the conversation he's just had. The one he's going in to continue. Now, it seems. 

A pair of lips find their way onto his shoulder. Cas twists around and lays his eyes on Dean. He makes a solid effort to keep his expression neutral, no matter how much he feels like jumping out of his skin at the memory of someone else feeling entitled to touch his body. 

“Everything alright?” 

No, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve just got to go into work for a little bit.”

Dean pulls a face and leans his forehead onto Cas' shoulder blades. “What? No. No work today, that’s what we said.”

In listening to this, a smile flickers across Castiel’s lips. Dean’s whining sounds an awful lot like Hannah’s whining. It’s just one of many shared traits between the two of them. It will be interesting to see how that blossoms when he lives under the same roof with both of them again. In all likely, it will be very much to his disadvantage. 

“Just for a bit,” he promises, pulling Dean's arm around and kissing his way down the forearm before slipping out from under it and off of the bed. “You stay here in bed. Go back to sleep. Make yourself some breakfast. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

He hopes that it’s true. Actually, he’s buzzing with nerves thinking how unprepared he is for this. Apparently the Balthazar that he thought he knew is not the man he is working with. Or maybe it is. Maybe it was a drunken mistake, a poor choice of words in a stressful situation. In any case, he’ll be all the more happy to be back here under the covers with Dean as soon as possible. 

But Dean, too, is sliding off the of bed and bending over to sort through the mess of clothing on the floor of Castiel’s bedroom. He sighs into a stretch and then says, “Mm, no. I’ll come with.” 

Castiel frowns. Dean hops into a pair of jeans. “We can just go from there to pick up Hannah,” he shrugs easily. There’s a hint of something in his voice. Castiel isn’t sure what it is. 

He’s rather distracted by the idea of Dean’s presence in his workplace and how jarring that would be for him. In the absence of Dean, after their separation, his work was almost a kind of vengeance. Something he was determined to succeed at despite the setbacks he’d met and sacrifices he’d made in the name of Dean. 

Not to mention the possible volatility of the mix of personalities there. Never mind Balthazar and _that_ incident, but Zachariah and his politics as well. Castiel's barely just gotten comfortable hanging pictures of Hannah in his desk, now he's hauling in his ex-husband fresh from a weekend-long session of love making? 

“Plus,” Dean walks around the bed to slide up behind Castiel, kissing him along his neckline as he wraps his arms around his waist, “I wouldn’t mind seeing where you work. Where you use all that big-brain energy.”

Castiel tries not to be enticed by the idea. This newly refreshed love is doing nothing for his reserve. 

“Alright,” he relents after a moment’s thought, his voice timid and shy as he does, “If you say so.”

Dean takes a step back and moves to locate his t-shirt, but not before landing a firm hand against Castiel's ass with the sound of a resound _smack_. “And I do. Let’s go, Romeo.”

Castiel can only shake his head and try to find an ensemble that is somewhat work-appropriate. 

Dean insists on driving down to the _Post_ , which means that it’s his black monstrosity of a car that pulls into the parking lot less than an hour later. He’d insisted on stopping for coffee, and he wears a placid, at-ease look behind the sunglasses he’d slipped on as they’d left the house. 

Castiel is significantly less comfortable where he’s sitting, but he tries not to give it away. He looks over at Dean and is surprised by how happy the sight makes him feel. Yes, it is jarring to see these two worlds of his intersecting in this moment; but it’s not entirely unwelcome. He takes a very great pride in the work he does here, and he is actually excited at the prospect of letting Dean in on that. That maybe Dean just might feel proud of him. 

“Come on,” he nods toward the entrance of the building as he leans down to open his door. 

When they enter the front lobby, Dean lets out a low appreciative whistle. “Not too shabby,” he declares, going to sip from the paper cup still grasped in his hand. Castiel preens already at the compliment, and then gives himself a shake and reminds himself to maintain a professional air. 

The first person who finds them inside the building is Pamela, for which Castiel feels exceptionally grateful.

She saddles up to two of them with a salacious wiggle of her eyebrows and asks, “Well, well. What have we here?” Castiel doesn’t have time to answer before she’s got him pinned to the ground with an inquisitive stare. “This is him? The baby daddy.”

The familiarity of it drives Castiel to want to deny it. Dean is many things, though Cas doesn’t know which word most accurately describes him now. Husband? Partner? Lover? Boyfriend? Former-Ex?

“That’s me,” Dean beams in pride before he decides on one. He swings around to look at Cas, a boyish smirk on his face that almost seems to be bragging, _yep, I totally get laid. Real sex._ Castiel purses his lips in order to keep a light scold on his face. It’s a challenge not to break into laughter. 

“Well, look at you,” Pamela chants after a moment’s pause. She begins to make a circle around the pair, her eyes grazing up and down over Dean's broad shoulders and his bowed legs. "Just fertile as a field full of poppies, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, Pamela,” Castiel steps in when he sees the pink blushing across Dean’s cheeks. He might be cocky, but Pamela could put him to shame with the things that came out of her mouth without a second's hesitation. “I’m glad you can meet Dean. Dean, this is Pamela.”

Dean raises his gaze off the floor to meet hers. His face has returned to its normal color, but his voice is still a little high-pitched when he mutters, “Pleasure.”

“Oh the pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure.” Her eyes continue to wander, and Castiel feels an odd pang of possessiveness. It’s harmless, but it’s a fun reminder of what it feels like when someone belongs to you. 

“Pam, I’ve got to meet with Balthazar for a bit. Would you mind showing Dean my desk?” He turns to Dean and tells him, “You can hang in there for a bit. Snoop around if you want.”

They both tell him that it’s no problem, and he makes his leave from them before he can find a reason to put off leaving. The flash in Pamela’s eye doesn’t escape him when he mentioned Balthazar’s name. It leaves Castiel with a bad feeling as he turns away. But what else can he do?

He can see his boss already through the glass walls enclosing his office, and he quickens his steps as he does so as to force himself into this. _It will all be okay. We are reasonable adults. No reason that this has to go badly._ He knocks twice succinctly and then opens the door.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says when he catches sight of the figure in his doorway. It's cold, none of his usual charm wasted today, apparently. He busies himself with rearranging papers on his desk, but it’s clearly a useless task. 

“Balthazar,” Cas returns, neutral. He's striving to keep at least some degree of authority in this situation, thought by all estimates he's already at zero before the conversation's even begun. 

It's at this point that Balthazar finally raises his head to look up at Castiel, and a small smile appears on his face. It comes as no comfort though- there's something off about it. Something calculating. 

He looks over into the rest of the office and his eyes land on Cas' desk, where Dean is now leaning back almost as far as he can in the rolling chair and appears to be attempting to create something out of sticky notes. It's not a terribly flattering image, though Castiel's heart swells nonetheless. He can see the way his boss eyes view the situation though, and he regrets for a moment not insisting that Dean stay at home for this. 

"You've brought the ex in, have you?" narrates Balthazar a loud, a self-satisfied kind of pettiness clear in his tone. "What an interesting development."

The way he pronounces the word drives Castiel to believe that he does not actually find it at all interesting. 

"Yes," he answers curtly, seeing as Dean has no place in this conversation. 

The editor nods, a smile curling onto his lips even as he lowers his eyes once more. If it's meant to put Castiel at ease, it fails. “Well, how nice of you to bring him in. This will likely be the first time he’s seen a newspaper.”

“Balth.” He makes it both a warning and a plea. _Please, don’t make this difficult. We can let this all go._

Letting go of the past is a skill Castiel is finding himself quite attuned to of late. If he can forgive years of heartbreak and loneliness, surely he can look past this. 

He attempts to wear this on his face; to let Balth know that bygones can very easily be bygones. They could go back to being friends even, could continue their dinners and their mentorship. As long as Balthazar understands that that's all they'll ever be; and that must be clear now, with him seeing Dean right in front of his eyes, living proof that Castiel is no longer available for... whatever Balthazar had been thinking last Friday night.  

“Listen, darling, let’s not waste t-” 

Cas is standing in front of his boss, his hands clasped together politely and his eyes open curiously. He's ready to listen intently, maybe to even use his persuasive skills if need be. He finds it like that Balthazar's sizable ego might be bruised. He's been brainstorming ways of letting him down easily since the phone call that disturbed his peace this morning. 

When Balthazar’s voice cuts off suddenly, it takes him by surprise. He hones his eyes in on Balth's pupils, follows them down his own body, and for a panicked seconds he wonders if his boss is shamelessly ogling his crotch. 

And then it occurs to him. His hand. The ring. 

“You know what, Cas?" Balthazar spits out suddenly, his eyes finding their way back up to Castiel's face, "I think it’s best that we cut our losses here.”

“Wh-" 

The air leaves Castiel's body more suddenly that he can account for. He'd expected tension, at the very least a pained discussion of the new order of their relationship from this point on. But... fired? He's worked much too hard for this. 

“Let’s be frank, the way you acted last week was entirely unprofessional.” Balthazar angrily stacks one folder on top of another while Castiel splutters, trying to keep up. “Absolutely out of line.”

A million words rush to the forefront of his mind, too many to filter through and try to decide which will help him save his job in this moment. 

“The way _I_ acted?” 

He takes a step forward toward the desk. His voice breaks and he points a finger at himself. What the hell is going on?

Balthazar, though, stops him cold in his tracks with a look that is so indifferent, it's as if he doesn't recognize Castiel. His jaw is set in such a firm line, you could crush glass against it. “Well, when you threw yourself at me,” he answers at last, shrugging one of his shoulders as if commenting on the weather. 

The million words are gone more quickly than they appeared. Cas' head is empty now, working only in quick pictures and flashes of memories, and a building sense of fear that has his throat closing up to both air and sound. 

“I am your editor, Castiel, and I understand there’s a sort of admiration, mentorship that comes along with that. But really, sneaking into my office and trying to sleep your way to the top..."

“Balthazar, that’s ridiculous! I-” Castiel has never been so insulted in all his life, or so scared. This is betrayal, what Balthazar is doing. But their working relationship complicates things. He can't speak the way he wants to, can't just walk away. He closes his eyes for just a moment to collect his breath, his thoughts. “Please, just take a minute to think about this. You don’t need to… we can forget this ever happened. I won’t ever tell anyone.” 

But there’s something holding strong in the black of Balthazar's shrewd eyes. It’s pride. He has backed himself into a corner in so many ways, and Castiel knows already that it’s over. This man is not going to let himself appear weak, he’s not going to allow Castiel to stay here knowing things about him that might make him vulnerable. 

Castiel swallows the lump in his throat. It's made of hurt and anxiety and hopeless and the worry that what he's losing here will never come again. But he turns on his heels and exits the office without another sound. He's not going to beg this man for his employment. Not after finding out what kind of man he is. 

Over the past few months, the past few days even, Cas has gained a kind of confidence in himself, in his decision-making that previously seemed unknown. The Castiel who made all his decision for other people, who pushed his own needs away, would probably be in that office on his knees right now, hands pressed together in submission as he stroked Balthazar's ego and did whatever he needed to in order to keep this job. 

But he's more comfortable now making spur-the-moment decisions. And as far as they go, walking away from Balthazar hardly seems like one he'll come to regret.

Angers stings through his body at the lost opportunity. The fact of losing something he's worked so hard for, through no fault of his own. Or perhaps it is his fault, for being too trusting. For not listening to the warnings. Either way, he is where he is now. He's hardly the first person this has happened to, and he won't be the last. But the bitterness sits on his tongue as he stomps across the floor, only vaguely aware of the eyes that follow him as he goes. 

“That was quick,” Dean remarks, sitting up  in Castiel’s chair and playing with a stack of Post-it notes. “What’d you- Cas? What is it?”

“Let’s go, Dean,” is all Castiel is able to bite out between his clenched teeth. He opens a drawer and pulls out all the research material related to articles he’d been pursuing. Takes a few personal items off his desk top and snatches the framed picture of Hannah 

From behind the separation of their work areas, Pamela pops up a curious head. Behind her, other heads are turning as well. Castiel's cheek with with embarrassment. 

“What happened?” Dean presses. His hand comes to rest of Castiel's arm, and he's sure Dean can feel the tension of clenched muscle there. 

Pamela comes out from the behind the wall and demands to know, “What did that cretin do? I swear to Christ I’ll-”

“I’ll tell you later," Cas assures her in a low voice. "Let it go for now.” It's clear that she doesn't want to, but he's thankful that she respects his limits. He glances at her as his lips dip into a frown and he confides momentarily, "I should have listened to you."

Pam’s whole face falls; a very sad resignation, a sort of I Told You So that doesn’t want to be said. 

Castiel turns away from her, from all the prying eyeshadow of his (former) co-workers and collects his things in his arms. He wants to get this over with, to take his leave with his head held high before Balthazar begins to spread whatever false reports he’s built in his head- that is, if he hasn’t already started disseminating the rumors. 

He casts a glance back just once to make sure that Dean is following behind. He is, albeit with mismatched steps and a bewildered hunch in his shoulders. 

“What did you mean, ‘I’ll tell you later’?” He demands to know once Cas has thrown his things into the back seat of the Impala and slammed the door with a force that makes Dean wince. “Cas, what is there to tell?”

If he hadn’t want to discuss it this morning, when there was hope of a clean resolution, then Castiel has absolutely no interest in discussing the sordidness details of his firing with Dean now. He heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his head, directing his gaze across the parking lot instead of at the man across from him. 

This isn’t his fault, he knows. He’s done nothing that would invite this kind cosmic punishment, not that he believes that something like thuan is ever merited in these situations. 

But he’s embarrassed, nonetheless. Just this morning he was the consummate adult: a successful man with a home and a newly-reconstructed family unit to his name. Now he’s.... a fool. To say the very least. He’s the same as the dumb nineteen year old who hopped into something with nothing but a head full of hope and the best of intentions. Maybe he hasn’t grown as much as he’d thought.

He sighs again as he raises his head to meet Dean’s eye. Cas doesn’t want to lie to him. He doesn’t want to keep anything from him, either. Just as in their discussion the other night, he wants to start things off with a clean slate for them. 

“What do you want me to say?” He breathes the words with a certain frustration. “My boss made a pass at me.”

Instantly, Dean’s brows furrow, and his expression oscillates between perplexed and enraged. His fingers wrap around the roof of his car and he begins to bare his teeth in a display of sheer aggression. 

“He _what_?” 

Castiel leans down for the doorbell handle and feels his shoulders slump. “Let’s just get out of here and I’ll explain everything.” He waits patiently for several seconds, and then, “Dean?”

Dean appears to be distracted by rage. Castiel has always known it would be a bad idea to have him and Balthazar in the same room, but he hadn’t known it would produce this kind of reaction. 

“That guy…" He pulls his hand away from the roof and pulls them to his sides to create fists that look prized to find purchase with something. Castiel stands slowly and straightens his back. "That's the guy who... he was outside your place that night, right?"

"Yes," Cas answers. "But nothing ever happened. I mean, Dean..." 

"No." Dean stops him before he can just to wonder just exactly road he was planning to go down there. “But- so he can just do that? He can do whatever to whoever he wants and he can fucking fire them if he doesn’t get what he wants? Cas, you could tell someone this. Like, like your other boss or something.” He's spluttering, hands still gripped tight into fists but his arms flailing wildly at his sides. 

Castiel’s eyes slip closed as he breathes out a frustrated sigh. “Actually, he’s claiming that it was me who tried to initiate something with him. To sleep my way up the ladder.”

The wait between that admission and what comes next feels relatively normal to Cas, even though it can’t be. In reality, it can’t be more than two seconds before he hears the rumble of a low “oh, fuck no” and the metallic creak of the car door being opened and slammed once more. His heart leaps into his throat at this point, and his eyes open in a flash to see Dean storming rather determinedly back into the building.

"Dean!" he calls out once, weakly, to avoid turning every head in the immediate area. 

He knows Dean. After eleven years of their lives tangled together, he doesn't have to make a guess at what Dean is storming in there to do right now. What he doesn't know is how he feels about it. 

He runs across the lobby in a sprint, but can't bring himself to step back into the office. He hovers by the front door, all the way across the floor from Balthazar's office, and watches as the door swings open. He hears words exchanged- Dean's loud and charged, Balthazar's smooth and seemingly taken aback- and then Dean approaches the desk. He takes Balthazar by the collar. Castiel should do something to stop this.

"Good Lord above."

Castiel's eyes perceive just enough in his peripheral to see that Pamela has resumed her place beside him. 

"That's the most arousing thing I've ever seen for free."

She isn't wrong. Castiel is, not for the first time, a mixed bag of feelings right now. A little shame and a bit of pride and even some righteousness; but what wins out above all is the heat he feels in his stomach. He is shamelessly attracted to Dean in this moment. 

A single blows lands in Balthazar's office. Dean’s fist balled against the pronounced line of Balth’s cheekbone. Castiel watches as his boss stumbles back, flabbergasted, and clutches at his injury with an open mouth

Dean strolls coolly our of the office, much the way Castiel must have not ten minutes prior, despite the attention that tracks his movement and across the room. 

"You brute!” Balthazar charged for the door and calls out from the frame. “You aboslute- I'm calling the police!"

Dean doesn’t look anywhere other than Castiel’s face for the entire time duration of his passage across the room. Cas doesn’t look away either. It's only when Dean grabs him forcefully by the forearm and tugs him back towards the entrance of the building that he manages to tear his eyes away. He sends a final look back to where Balthazar is fuming across the floor. A satisfied smirk is his parting gift to the office of the _Post_. 

He follows wordlessly, as before, lead by Dean's tensed grip back out to the parking lot. Dean lets go of him and goes around to the driver's side without meeting Castiel's eyes. They each sit themselves in the car, still in stunned silence, and Dean has pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road before he says anything at all. 

"I'm sorry." 

Cas isn't sure if he needs to be. 

Dean quickly adds, "By which I mean, I'm sorry if that wasn't how you wanted me to react, cus it was probably fuckin' hot-headed and impulsive could probably get you in trouble with your job and everything but- but fuck if I'm gonna let some guy get handsy with you and then try and screw you over. No fuckin' way, Cas."

His gaze is fixed on the road, and his hands alternate between wrapping around the steering wheel and gesturing into the air emphatically. His muscles are practically rippling through his leather jacket. Castiel takes all this in with a sort of hazy filter before he turns his own stare out the window to inspect where they are. He knows the road, but not why they're here. It doesn't appear that there headed anyway in particular. 

"You're right."

Dean cats a glance over at him when he speaks his answer, voice low and calm. Castiel inches closer to him, as much as his seatbelt will let him, because despite everything else, safety is still very important. He keeps his hands to himself, which is very hard to do. "It was impulsive and hot-headed. It was... insouciant, is probably the best way to phase it. And it was also one of the sexiest things I have ever seen in my life."

Dean's fingers relax around the wheel and the Castiel can feel the breaks pump, both literally and figuratively. 

"Thank you, Dean," he says quietly as he reaches over to take Dean's hand of the steering wheel and entwine the fingers around his own.

For a while, they drive around town aimlessly, hand in hand. It's early in the day, they've got time before they need to pick up Hannah, and the unwinding is good for both of them. Cas thinks of asking out loud if Dean is thinking the same as him, back to their first date, their first summer, when car rides like these were the only freedom they knew. In the end, he decides not to say anything. He knows already, from the way Dean's thumb strokes gently over his palm, that their minds are in the same place. 

The front facade of Anna’s apartment building feels like a warm bath on a cold winter day. Like the first sight of land after months spent crossing a tempestuous sea. 

Just the thought of seeing Hannah again, of taking her home, with Dean, all three of them together. It’s enough to make him pull up what small reserve of good spirits are buried beneath the fear and confusion circling through his head right now.

They sit in the car in silence for a long few moments, neither of them making any move for the door. Castiel is caught up thinking of what he'll do tomorrow, or the day after. How he'll put food on the table or pay the mortgage. One day into their refreshed domestic fantasy, and already there's a wrench in the system that threatens to destroy what they've made. 

“I just wanna ask one more time."

Castiel, with his hand resting on his chin a bit sullenly, looks over at Dean, who's leaned against his own window and peering across the front seat as if it stretches for miles. He offers a lopsided grin, which is about the best he can muster. 

"Are you sure?”

What a question. Two weeks ago, the answer had been somewhere between yes and no, bouncing back and forth in a seemingly never-ending quest to make Castiel tire of the sound of his own thoughts. Now, it's so glaringly obvious that he's almost offended by the ask. 

Cas levels a look at him that would be something like a glare if there weren’t so much love in it. “Dean.”

It’s true that there’s are many things that he is not sure of in this moment. 

He isn’t sure what will happen next. He’s unemployed now, of course. He’ll have to go to looking for jobs. A good word from either Balthazar or Zachariah is almost unthinkable... It’s heartbreaking, in a way, to have worked so hard at something and only to end up where you started in the first place.

But he is very sure about this. In fact, he’s only more sure of it after having seen Dean’s fierce dedication play out right in front of his very eyes, and having felt the shocking amount of pride he did at his husband's actions. Balthazar had tired to pick at Dean, to make him seem stupid or small or provincial. But given the choice- and he had been, really- Castiel would still pick Dean. A thousand times over. He's good and he's smart and he's earnest as hell, and he's the only man Castiel ever plans on feeling this way about. 

Castiel glad to have this to hold onto during that chaos around him. As long as he’s got Dean and Hannah by his side, he’s more than confident that he can make it through. 

“Give me a kiss, you idiot.”

Dean’s whole face turns into a beam of light at that. He does as told, as a good husband would, and leans across the front seat to give Cas the last kiss they'll share before they lives change all over again. It's light and sweet and chaste, and quickly followed by a huff of breath and Dean's admittal of, "You know, I'm still pretty scared of your sister."

"I'd be concerned if you weren't," Cas tells him, sliding his palm over the edge of Dean's jaw. "But I suspect things will be alright in the end."

They tend to be that way, after all. 

Dean's eyes sparkle with clarity and unrefined happiness. Castiel watches his smile spread in the reflection there and says, “Now let’s go get our girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking to the end with me! You've got an epilogue coming your way, fingers crossed that it will be out relatively soon!
> 
> If you like the story, or my writing, or just want to chat about anything, come on over and say hi on my new tumblr: https://blueskies-and-applepies.tumblr.com/


	14. Chapter 14

There’s a silver picture frame that sits on the kitchen table. It’s a little worse for the wear, the polish a bit worn down, and at present it’s covered in a mixture of mashed carrot and sweet potato. Castiel looks over at it, and sighs, and then turns back with an empty spoon in his hand.

“Jack,” he pleads, “Work with me, here. You’re making a bit of a mess.”

Jack answers with a loud babble, an unshakeable grin plastered on his face. That kind of optimism, Cas is sure, can only come from his other father. 

“Come on,” encourages Castiel, “just one spoonful- _ah_ , in your mouth this time.”

Beside the picture frame sits Hannah, who leans unhappily on one elbow and stares dejectedly down at a set of papers dispersed in front of her. Just about every thirty seconds, she heaves a drawn-out sigh and sinks further down toward the table. 

“When will Daddy be home?” she asks again. 

Castiel grabs a napkin off the table and takes it to his son’s face. He’s giving up on feeding time. Jack’s doesn’t seem to care, anyway. 

“I want Daddy to help me with my homework.”

Standing to his feet, Castiel sighs quietly. It's only just for the weekend, but he's forgotten how tiring it can be doing this on your own. “Well, you’ve got one dad here.”

“You’re no  _help_.”

Castiel imagines this is how people find themselves with a favorite child. Though, looking at the splatters of orange mush around his kitchen, it’s a pretty tight race.

“Well you’ll probably be asleep by the time he gets home.” He shrugs his shoulders and uses the napkin to wipe off the baby food shrapnel from the picture frame. “But if we finish up now, we can watch a movie together before bed. Does that sound good?”

Hannah makes a valiant effort to continue pouting, but Castiel can see in her face that she’s slipping. He slides into the chair next to her and peers over her shoulder at the paper. “Let me see what you’ve got here.”

It’s true that he’s not much of a help. Cas was always one for humanities over math and science, and the years since leaving school have only allowed what little he retained to slip away. But surely he can make his way through a third-grade math sheet. He thinks. 

In any case, he's all she's got. 

He’s distracted by the math (and how surprisingly difficult it is) when the sound of keys jingling in the lock echoes down the hallway, but he does hear it. Hannah pops up like a meerkat, doing her best to lean all the way across the table in an effort to see who's at the door. When the door opens, she  is on her feet before Castiel can properly react, so he stays in his seat and tosses a curious look to Jack still in his high chair, waiting patiently to see who their visitor is. 

The sound of something cloth dropping onto the floor is his first hint, quickly followed by the sound of Hannah’s voice yelling out“Daddy!” from the hallway. Not a minute later does Dean stroll merrily into the kitchen, with Hannah bouncing in his arms and one of those unshakeable grins on his face. 

“I’m home,” he announces, rather redundantly, but Castiel is so pleased by the surprise that he lets it slide.

“I thought you weren’t getting back until tonight,” he says, with a wide smile.  

Dean lowers Hannah to the ground and when he rises back to his full height, he’s wearing a smile that Castiel recognizes as hiding something. “I convinced the old man to head back a little early.”

Cas nods knowingly. “Couldn’t stand all that freedom, huh?” he asks, with only a hint of joke in his voice. 

“You have no idea.”

Dean strides confidently across the kitchen floor and grabs Cas’ face with both hands, pulling him in for a long kiss that leaves Cas just a little light-headed. “Missed you,” he breathes out against Castiel's lips, and cas can taste the wicked grin he's pulling even without seeing it. 

Castiel doesn’t have to tell Dean that he missed him too, because it’s obvious, and he’s already told him at least five times since he’s been gone, but he does anyway. He feels pretty silly saying it, in fact, because Dean hasn’t even been gone for forty-eight hours. He’d been out with Bobby for the weekend, headed for a car show over in Indianapolis. They’d left Friday afternoon. It’s not even dinner time yet Sunday, and Cas can’t deny that it was already getting to be too much for him.

“And how about you, huh?” Castiel looks over to see Dean’s turned his attention to the young man in the high chair. Both of their eyes light up at seeing the other, and Jack instantly stretches out his arms and calls out what Cas assumes is a demand to be held. “Did you somehow get cuter when I was gone? Even cuter?”

Dean doesn't seem to mind the mess of mashed vegetables all over Jack's face and clothing as he pulls the baby up into his arms. Jack flails wildly, always content to be carried, but Castiel thinks that he is likely also very happy to be reunited with his father. 

“Cas, will you look at this?” Dean yells at him, even though he's just a few feet away. “Will you look at this cute thing I made? I can’t believe it. Can’t believe how cute it is.”

“And me, daddy?” Hannah hops on the ground beside him. She looks up and bats her eyelashes the way she's seen in cartoons, begging to be included. 

“Ah yes, my petite. You, too.” In an move that is seemingly entire without effort, Dean leans down and scoops her up into one arm, so that he's now get one child on each arm. Castiel has to reel in the dizziness that creates in him deep down. The father of his children, enjoying their presence, showing displaying his strength and power and... “You see, Cas? Two! Two cute things I made!”

The three of them are a veritable mess of teeth and laughter, and it does not make Castiel want to melt into the floor and live the rest of his life as a very contented goo on the kitchen floor. 

He pretends to be not at all amused by them, as he goes back to wiping the bits of sweet potato off of the kitchen. “Yes, all by yourself,” he answers in his best play at a monotone.“No help at all. Very good work, Dean.”

Dean pulls a face likes he's thinking hard about that, and leans down to Hannah for an opinion. “Nah, I guess Dad helped a bit.” He turns over to Jack and jostles the baby in his arms.“Yeah? You agree?”

Jack smacks his lips loudly, which produces a healthy stream if spit, which goes right onto Dean's face. Hannah shrieks out a protest, and Dean lowers her back to the ground, a hand wiping the wetness of his face as he narrows his eyes at the perpetrator. 

“Well," declares Castiel with a bit of smugness to it, "since you’re home early, you’re just in time to give this messy boy a bath.”

Dean blinks a few times and then says,  “Happy to do it.”

“And Hannah, that means you can have Daddy help you with your math homework.”

He grimaces. “Less happy about that one, but-”

“Are we still gonna watch a movie?”

Leave it to Hannah to have her priorities. For that quality, they can thank her Uncle Gabriel, surely. 

Cas considers the kitchen as clean as he is going to get it, and tosses the rag into the sink. He wrings some water from his hands and places them on his hips. “Yes, I think so.”

A part of him had been looking forward a night snuggling in bed with Hannah, just the two of them. A bit like old times, when it was she and him against the world. 

A much large part is all the more happy to have Dean in there with them, the biggest spoon in a chain of spoons that makes Castiel very happy to be in the middle of. 

Hannah cheers out at that, and her fathers exchange a look. She asks Dean if she can help give Jack his tub, and he tells her yes, if she promises to finish her homework directly after and if she stops making  comments about her brother's anatomy. They're trying to teach her that bodies are normal, and that hers is different from Jack's; but there's only so many times in a row she can think of an excuse to say "peepee" before they starts to catch on that she's abusing her big-sister power. 

Castiel tidies up the living room while they take their time cleaning Jack off. He keeps his ears open and listens to their conversation the sounds of water splashing, Dean singing his own off-key version of _When the Levee Breaks_ and Hannah attempting to follow along. He doesn't try to fight back the smile that comes naturally, that's almost always a fixture on his face at this point. He couldn't ask for a better soundtrack for his housework. 

They do watch a movie together in bed, during which Hannah falls into a very begrudging slumber, her little eyelids fighting to stay awake up until the last moment. Cas let her sleep for a while in his arms, his fingers running over the soft tufts of golden hair that spread over the bed sheets. 

Eventually, though, Dean scoops her up into his arms and moves her into her own bedroom. Neither one of them is terribly inclined to finish The Land Before Time without her presence, so once both kids are happily asleep they slink down to the living room, where Cas installs himself on the couch while Dean ducks over to the fridge to grab them a few beers. 

He enters the living room now, holding out a bottle towards Cas as he does, and Cas smiles as he takes it, unable to notice the endearing cowboy-like gait he has. Dean sinks down in the couch with a groan and throws an arm around Castiel as he takes a long sip from his bottle. “Good to be home,” he announces to the room when he’s finished. 

“Yes, about that." Castiel turns to his side so he's facing Dean straight on. He tilts his head to the side curiously. "Are you going to tell me why you really came home early?”

“I already told you. I missed you.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the same moment he raises his beer bottle to his lips. “That’s it?”

“Honestly," Dean says with a shrug. "That’s it.”

But still, it feels like there's something he's leaving off. Cas doesn't push it. Communication is something that comes easier to them now, and he knows that if Dean wants to tell him, then he will. But he does lay a hand comfortingly on the jean that covers Dean's thigh. He sinks into the couch and against Dean's body with a sigh. 

“It’s just," Dean starts after a few minutes of contented silence, "It's like this weekend was the first time I ever missed you guys in a good way, you know? I didn’t have to feel guilty for leaving, and I knew you’d be waiting for me when I got home.” Castiel doesn't raise his head or seek out his eyes. He can feel Dean's vulnerability and he doesn't want to do anything to increase it.  "I guess I just didn't wanna push it."

And there we go. That wasn't very hard. Cas leaves it at that, doesn’t go searching for anything more. 

Instead he sets about slowly draining his beverage. He’s not particularly in the mood to drin, but is refreshing nonetheless, and it gives him something to do while he rests his head on Dean’s chest and counts the way his breaths come in and out. 

“You know this couch is still my favorite thing in this house?”

He speaks the word just as they pop into his head. A small comment, something that he hopes will make Dean feel light inside his chest. 

“Yeah?" He feels the press of Dean's lips against the crown of his head. "Even with that big, comfy bed we paid so much money for?” 

“Mm,” Cas answers dismissively. “Bed didn’t help me get my husband back.”

Dean cracks into a goofy grin and lets his forehead drop to rest against Castiel’s. 'Husband' isn’t exactly accurate, not that they don’t use the word anyway. They haven’t gotten around to undoing (redoing?) the paperwork that comes with being married; between parenting two kids and Cas’ new job and moving things around in the house, there hasn’t been much time. But they wear their rings and they do everything they possibly can as a team, so the formalities can wait a little while, they think. 

“Hey.” Dean pats a hand on Castiel’s thigh and shakes to get his attention. “You thought about what you wanna do for your birthday yet?”

Cas clamps his eyes shut and attempts to turn away. “Ugh, don’t remind me. _Thirty_. I’m so old.”

The hand on his thigh grips harder, teasing. “I’d like to remind you that I’m already thirty," Dean mutters, pretending to be grumpy. “And it’s not that bad. I think we’re doing pretty good for ourselves.”

He leans over and gives Castiel an appraising look. “You’re looking particularly good for your age, I think," he hums at last. “Except for these wrinkles right here.”

Cas sits up in a huff and grabs immediately at the hand that's closing in on the skin around his eye. “They’re called laugh lines, and if you don’t like them, then you should stop making me laugh!”

Which, of course, makes Dean chuckle maniacally. He seems to enjoy tormenting Castiel in this way. But he rests back against the couch after he finishes a good long minute of laughter at his husband's expense.   “Nah, I like ‘em. Make you look distinguished.”

Cas pulls away but narrows his eyes, until he realizes this is likely to cause more lines and then pulls his face as taut as he can. Dean laughs in his face- again- and it is somehow more adorable than cruel so that Cas thinks he can forget his laugh lines, for now. 

“You know what I want to do?” He says when they've returned to their previously relaxed position, limbs stacked one on top of the other. “Let’s just have everyone over in the backyard. You brother, my brother, Anna, our folks. We can have a barbecue.”

Dean gives a solid nod as he polishes off the rest of his beer. “Yeah, we can do that. I think Sam's getting better at standing bein' around Gabe- and Anna's getting better at standing bein' around me. I guess it’s been a while since we fired up the grill, huh?”

Last summer, just after Dean had moved in and while Castiel was in full bloom of his pregnancy, they'd taken to having regular get-togethers in the back yard. It was a great way to celebrate their coming back together, and to get everyone used to the idea of their family as a whole unit again (though some people took decidedly more convincing than others).

But that isn't the only reason the idea is so appealing to him.

Castiel adjusts his position, chewing on his lower lip, and mutters timidly, “Do you… do you still have the video camera?”

“Yeah, I remember packing it in my stuff when I moved in here.”Dean pauses with the bottle on the way to his lips. “You wanna do some dirty stuff with it?”

“No!” 

Cas pauses, considering. _Well..._ he shakes his head- he’ll come back to that later. “I want to record some videos at the party. We haven’t made any new ones, and Jack’s already almost a year and I just want to make sure we remember.”

Dean looks him over for a long minute. A hand comes up to stroke his cheek, and Cas would be embarrassed if he didn’t feel so damn comfortable. If it weren't so impossible to feel anything but good and protected and god damn _happy_ around Dean.  

“You’re getting sappy in your old age.”

Cas bats his hand away again, but it's weak and there's not real effort behind it. He's lazy, in his comfort.

“I am gonna kill you,” he threatens anyway. And then, standing up, “Can we go to bed? I’m tired.”

Dean, luckily, doesn't go for another poke at his age. Instead, he raises his eyebrows curiously and draws a long stare over the couch. His hand rubs over the soft material of the cushion. “You don’t want to... make out on the sofa for a couple minutes?”

The idea produces a giggle from Castiel, but is enticing nonetheless. He approaches Dean in incremental steps, and reaches out his fingers until they find Dean's and entwine naturally. 

“What like we’re seventeen years old?” he asks. 

Dean fixes a look at him that seems to ask, _are you kidding me?_

“Cas, I don’t think we’re ever gonna stop acting like we’re seventeen years old.”

Castiel hopes that he’s right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys, you're all the best, and you've been nothing but the utmost support for this story. PLEASE, tell me all your feelings, all your thoughts, all your hopes for the future. And, as I said before, come say hi on my brand-new writing tumblr:
> 
> https://blueskies-and-applepies.tumblr.com


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